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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

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1980 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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r~7]    This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

bLl    Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 


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d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

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dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
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symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

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Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS 


ai  jSobcJ 


BY 


M.  AMELIA  FYTCHE 


O  Love  !  how  iiiaiivcd 


ill  tliy  name! 


150ST0N 
ARENA  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Copi.KY  Square 
1S05 


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Copyrighted,  1895, 

BY 
M.  AMELIA   FYTCHE. 


A II  Rights  Reserved. 


Arbna  Print. 


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ii 


TO 

Ais  publidber, 

AS  A  SLIGHT  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

OF   HIS 

UNFAILING  COURTESY  AND   KINDNESS, 

THIS   BOOK   IS   DEDICATED 

BY  THE   AUTHOR 


/^<^, 


O03O 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


BOOK  1. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Flowers  are  lovely,  love  is  flower-like, 
Friendship  is  a  sheltering  tree." — Coleridge. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Pembroke,"  said  Harry 
Alexander,  as  he  clasped  her  hand  in  both  of  his 
in  a  semi-brotherly  way,  adding,  as  if  apologiz- 
ing for  his  visit,  "  I  called  this  evening  chiefly  on 
Hilda's  account.  Are  you  still  determined  to 
break  up  your  school  at  Easter?" 

"  Yes,  quite  determined." 

"  Tell  me,  can  nothing  I  say  cause  you  to 
rescind  that  resolution  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing ;  my  plans  are  all  made." 

*'  And  if  you  go  abroad,  what  shall  I  do  with 
Hilda?" 

"Oh,  there  are  plenty  of  schools  quite  as  good 
as  mine."  3 


rrttHk 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


"  But  not  plenty  of  Dorothy  Pembrokes,"  he 
pleaded. 

"  Nonsense ! "  she  exclainried  blushing,  then 
quickly  added,  "  Oh,  Harry,  why  did  you  come 
to-night  ?  You  know  I  wrote  you  not  to  ;  this 
continual  discussion  is  unsettling  me." 

"  I  believe  you  did  say  something  to  that  effect 
in  your  note,  but  confess,  now,  you  did  not  for 
an  instant  suppose  that  I  would  obey  you,  in  fact 
you  would  have  been  very  much  disappointed  if  I 

had Don't  interrupt  me,  please  ;  I  know  what 

would  say — that  Mrs.  Grundy  will  talk,  that  you 
have  a  hard  time  of  it  at  the  best,  that  if  I 
am  a  true  friend  I'll  not  make  it  harder  for 
you.  Yes,  you  have  a  deuced  hard  time  of  it,  I 
admit.  But  don't  you  think  you  are  getting  a 
little  morbid  over  it,  Dora  ;  that  you  are  posing  for 
more  of  a  martyr  than  you  have  any  right  to?" 

"  There,  Harry,  that  shows  how  completely  you 
misjudge  me ;  /  posing  for  a  martyr?  I  am  so  gay 
and  careless  most  people  think  I  have  no  heart." 

"  It  may  seem  so  to  the  chance  acquaintance 
who  sees  no  further  than  the  surface,  but  I  flatter 
myself  that  I  am  an  old  enough  friend  to  read 
between  the  -lines,  and  also  to  overlook  the  in- 
civility of  my  hostess  in  not  asking  me  to  be 
seated." 

Dorothy  laughed,  but  made  no  reply,  wondering 
what  would  happen  next. 


1  ' 


.y 


KEKCniEl'S  10  HUNT  SOULS. 


1! 

1 


I' 


Her  companion  took  off  his  gloves  and  over- 
coat with  that  exaggerated  show  of  composure 
which  is  often  the  accompaniment  of  suppressed 
emotion  ;  then,  turning  down  the  light  and  draw- 
ing an  easy-chair  to  the  open  fire,  he  seated  him- 
self, and  after  nursing  his  leg  (his  favorite  attitude) 
for  some  time  in  silence,  finally  said  in  a  master- 
ful sort  of  way,  "  What  do  you  have  that  beastly 
electricity  for,  Dora  ?  This  is  something  like — 
firelight  is  conducive  to  conversation.  Sit  down 
and  let  us  talk  this  out.  Do  you  know  I  felt 
much  as  I  should  fancy  one  of  those  impudent 
interviewers  would  feel  standing  there  in  the 
garish  light,  with  you  opposite  me,  with  one  hand 
on  the  door,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  When  are  you 
going,  sir  ?  '  " 

"  You'd  make  a  capital  interviewer,  Harry, 
You  don't  take  hints,  do  you  ?" 

"  Not  from  you,  little  woman." 

"  I  verily  believe  you'll  make  me  marry  you 
yet  in  spite  of  myself." 

"  Oh  ?  "  he  exclaimed  interrogatively. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  oh  ?  "  Dorothy  asked. 

"  Anything  you  like." 

"But  I  don't  like  it  at  all." 

"Oh!" 

"  There  it  is  again  !  "  she  cried,  with  some  little 
irritation.     "  I  verily  believe  you  say  it  to  tease 


me. 


6  KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 

"  Pardon  me,  Dora,  I  was  not  aware  of  any 
hidden  meaning  in  the  exclamation.  Why  do  you 
object  to  it  ?     You  use  it  constantly  yourself." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  my  oh  is  not  like  your  oh  ; 
it  is  a  harmless  little  exclamation  ;  yours  means 
volumes.  I  always  feel  sat  upon.  You  utter  it, 
do  you  not,  when  I  have  said  something  that  your 
majesty  does  not  consider  worthy  of  a  better 
answer  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  challenge  in  her 
lovely  eyes, 

"  It  may  be  I  have  usee  it  so  unintentionally ; 
certainly  what  you  last  said  merited  no  better 
reply.  You  do  not  for  a  moment  believe,  Doro- 
thy, I  would  have  you  marry  me  feeling  as  you 
now  do.  Nevertheless  I  wish  I  could  make  you 
see  things  as  I  see  them,  and  give  up  this  foolish 
idea  of  going  to  Europe  with  scarcely  a  shilling 
in  your  pocket." 

**  Oh,  must  we  go  over  the  pros  and  cons 
again  ? "  objected  Dorothy  with  a  sigh,  as  she 
sank  into  a  chair  beside  him. 

"  Yes,  we  must ;  there  are  a  number  of  things  I 
did  not  think  of  in  our  talk  the  other  day  that  I 
should  like  to  discuss  now,  for  you  are  a  reason- 
able little  woman,  and  may  see  things  in  a  dif- 
ferent light  this  evening." 

"  You  are  intolerable,  Harry  !  You  treat  me 
like  a  child  that  does  not  know  its  own  mind — nic^ 
Dorothea   Pembroke,  spinster,  and   principal  for 


'^  «■ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS.  7 

the  last  five  years  of  a  young  ladies'  boarding 
school." 

"  Yes,  there's  the  rub,  Dora ;  a  greater  bundle  of 
inconsistencies  I  never  met  before.  Why  did  you 
not  add  advocate  for  woman  suffrage  and  emanci- 
pation, for  equal  opportunities  for  smoking,  drink- 
ing, flirting  and  loving,  boating,  muscular  Chris- 
tianity, high-church  sisterhoods,  Salvation  Army 
parades,  and  Christian  Science?  My  only  wonder 
is  that  you  have  stuck  to  teaching  and  have  not 
taken  an  M.  D.  degree." 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  doctor  or  even  a  nurse,  1  can 
do  nothing  but  teach  ;  but  I  love  that  dearly,  and 
only  wish  it  paid  better,"  she  added  with  a  sigh. 

"  And  I  am  very  glad  it  does  not,  for  if  you 
made  a  fortune  by  teaching  I  should  give  up  all 
hope,  Dorothy.  Now  you  like,  or  rather  once 
liked,  to  have  a  friend  diop  in  from  time  to  time, 
to  whom  you  could  whisperyour  woes  ;  the  worst 
of  it  is  that,  womanlike,  after  getting  me  all 
worked  up  to  do  my  level  best  to  help  you,  you 
turn  round  and  tell  me  you  had  rather  not  be 
helped.     Hard  lines,  I  must  say. 

*'  Oh  !  Harry,  let  me  tell  you  what  I  call  the 
worst  of  it ;  it  is  that  one  can't  have  a  platonic 
friend  to  confide  in  without  his  falling  in  love 
with  her. 

"  Pardon  me,  Dora,  but  I  never  fell  in  love  with 
you. 


8 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


"  I  know  it,  and  that  is  worser  than  the  worst ; 
you  ask  me  to  marry  you,  and  in  the  same  breath 
say  you  do  not  love  me." 

"  No,  truly,  I  do  not  love  you  with  that  mawk- 
ish sentimentality  that  covers  a  multitude  of  sins 
in  a  love-match.  I  tried  it  once  and  it  was  not 
a  success,  I  can  assure  you.  The  awakening  was 
terrible.  The  thing  called  '  Love,  with  a  capital 
L/  has  had  its  day ;  it  is  time  it  was  derogated  to 
the  shades,  and  marriages  of  inclination  and  knowl- 
edge, guided  by  reason,  set  up  in  its  place.  It  is 
to  the  emotional  love-matches  that  we  are  indebted 
for  the  idiots,  epileptics,  and  criminals.  Why 
should  we  not  educate  the  affections,  as  we  do 
the  intellect  ?  The  propagation  of  the  human 
race  has  been  a  bungle :  it  is  time  we  looked  into 
the  subject  a  little,  and  gave  it  at  least  as  much 
care  and  thought  as  we  do  to  horse-raising.  Surely 
you,  Dorothy,  with  your  advanced  ideas,  do  not 
disagree  with  me  in  this?" 

"  No,  not  with  my  intellect,  but  with  my  heart 
I  do.  Harry,  there  is  something  within  me  that 
tells  me  that  the  love  that  bards  and  troubadours 
immortalized  in  verse  and  song  is  not  dead,  but 
only  hiding  in  this  matter-of-fact  age.  I  believe 
that  I  am  but  the  incomplete  half  of  an  immortal 
being,  and  that  in  heaven,  though  they  neither 
marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage,  two  affinities  in 
this  world  will  be  joined  in  one  glorious  and  im- 


ii 


mmm 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


mortal  entity  there.  I  feel  my  incompleteness 
here  more  than  I  can  express;  all  my  aspirations 
seem  to  fall  short  of  the  mark.  I  shall  wait  till 
I  meet  my  affinity  before  I  marry.  * 

"  And  suppose  you  never  find  your  affinity, 
what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  shall  never  marry,"  she  calmly  re- 
joined. "  Marriage,  thank  goodness,  is  not  the 
aim  and  end  of  woman's  life  in  this  nineteenth 
century." 

Harry  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  how  you  have  kept  green  all 
this  romance  in  the  worry  and  trouble,  the  wear 
and  tear,  of  daily  life  ;  one  would  hardly  expect 
it  in  a  woman  of  your  age ;  it  is  truly  refreshing, 
and  would  not  discredit  a  girl  of  sixteen.  With 
such  sentiments  I  can  well  believe  that  my  offer 
of  a  home,  friendship,  and  intellectual  companion- 
ship would  be  spurned." 

"  Do  not  be  severe,  please  ;  I  have  not  spurned 
your  friendship ;  in  fact  I  count  upon  it,  for  you 
know  you  are  my  one  and  only  friend.  •  Don't 
expect  me  to  marry  you,  and  do  not  be  angry 
with  me  because  I  cannot.  I  do  not  want  a  hus- 
band, but  I  do  want  a  friend.  God  knows  I  ap- 
preciate your  friendship  ;  life  would  not  be  the 
same  without  it ;  don't  withhold  it,  please  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  Dorothy  raised  her  large  eyes  and 
looked  into  his  face  with  such  a  wistful,  tender, 


lO 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


pleading  look  that  Harry  felt  himself  a  brute  with- 
out knowing  why,  and  hastened  to  assure  her  he 
would  always  be  her  friend,  was  not  angry  in 
the  least,  only  wanted  her  to  marry  him  because 
he  was  her  friend,  had  made  an  awful  muss  of 
the  whole  thing,  hoped  she'd  forget  all  about  it 
and  let  him  run  in  in  the  friendly  way  he  had  been 
wont  to  do,  before  she  set  them  all  agog  with  this 
idea  of  going  abroad.  To  this  Dorothy  gladly 
assented,  and  after  some  trivial  conversation 
Harry  rose  to  gj,  promising  to  call  again  in  a  day 
or  two  and  bring  a  lot  of  guide-books  with  him 
which  he  would  take  great  pleasure  in  going  over 
with  her;  in  fact  he  would  do  everything  in  his 
power  to  help  her  off,  anything  to  prove  his 
friendship. 

It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  tear  himself  away, 
for  at  the  front  door  he  hesitated,  then  turned 
and  retraced  his  steps  to  the  drawing-room  to  beg 
her  forgiveness  if  he  had  spoken  strongly,  and  to 
assure  her  it  was  only  her  happiness  he  the  ^ght  of. 

When  he  was  really  gone,  Dorothy  felt  very 
forlorn  and  iorsaken,  and  not  a  bit  happy  in 
having  her  own  way.  "  Bother ! "  she  mused, 
"  I  can't  help  thinking  of  him  ;  he  takes  pos- 
session of  my  thoughts  in  much  the  same  way  as 
he  does  of  my  room.  He's  big,  but  it  is  not  that 
alone  ;  I've  had  just  as  big  men  here  often  who 
did  not  take  up  half  the  place  he  does  ;  the  secret 


■"T*^ 


wmmmmmmmmmmimmimmmmmm. 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


II 


is  he's  imposing  and  masterful ;  there  are  not 
many  men  like  him  in  the  world ;  he's  not  a  bit 
egotistical.  Fancy  his  coming  back  to  beg  my 
pardon  for  what  he  had  said  !  I  do  treat  him  abom- 
inably ;  I  wish  I  loved  him  well  enough  to  marry 
him,  but  I  don't  ;  the  trouble  is  he  loves  every- 
body, and  the  man  I  give  my  heart  to  must  love 
me,  and  me  only,  passionately.  Harry  is  an  aw- 
fully good  friend  though  :  how  tender  he  is  to 
children  and  animals !  I  suppose  that's  why  he 
is  so  good  to  me ;  he  is  sorry  for  me,  pities  me. 
Well,  I  do  not  mind  it ;  I  only  wish  he  loved  me 
too ;  it  seems  all  right  to  accept  things,  even 
sacrifices,  from  him.  Poor  dear  fellow  !  I  wonder 
why  he  married  Hilda's  mother;  I  must  get  him 
to  tell  me  some  time."  Then  putting  the  chairs 
back  in  their  places,  and  arranging  the  room  for 
the  next  day,  she  lit  the  little  candle  on  the  hall- 
table,  and  softly  stole  upstairs  to  bed. 


"^™ 


T^ 


ii 


12 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


•     *      * 


'        CHAPTER   II.  '         ' 

.•■-         i  .   I  ■"'»•'■  ■  '  i  ,      u  ■ ,    -   ' 

\ 

"  Un  bon  ami  vaut  mieux  qu'un  parent." — French  proverb.    '■ 

"  If  you  be  what  I  think  you,  some  sweet  dream, 
I  would  but  ask  you  to  fulfil  yourself." — Tennyson.  i' 

Old  winter  in  Canada  was  dying  hard.  Lamb- 
like indeed  March  had  entered,  and  now,  the 
31st,  the  Hon  was  rampant  in  all  its  fury.  The 
next  morning's  paper  announced  "  that  such  a 
blizzard  as  swept  over  the  town  in  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  had  never  been  seen  or  heard  of  be- 
fore in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant." 
True  or  not,  all  day  long  the  storm  had  raged, 
and  as  night  set  in  it  was  still  moaning  and  sigh- 
ing like  a  naughty  child  crying  itself  to  sleep. 

By  every  door  and  window,  crack  and  cranny, 
the  bitter  cold  crept  into  the  hovels  of  the  poor, 
killing  the  old  and  feeble,  chilling  the  sick  and 
puny,  and  making  desperate  the  unemployed  and 
starving.  Very  different  was  it  with  the  wealthy, 
those  whom  kind  Providence  had  apparently  taken 
under  especial  protection.  The  cold  anJ  storm 
outside  served  but  to  heighten  for  :hem  the 
pleasure  of  warm  fires  and  other  creature  comforts 


ll 


)\ 


/I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


13 


within.  Especially  was  such  the  case  in  Dorothy 
Pembroke's  little  sanctum  ;  her  cosy  drawing-room, 
in  a  glow  of  warmth  and  color,  seemed  cosier  than 
ever  on  such  a  night. 

The  room  had  originally  been  square,  with  big 
closets  on  each  side  of  the  old-fashioned  chimney  ; 
these  had  been  pulled  down,  and  the  right-hand 
recess,  in  which  was  a  window,  had  been  filled  with 
ferns,  palms,  and  tropical  plants,  where  her  pet 
birds,  Dick  and  Jacko,  might  with  a  slight  stretch 
of  imagination  fancy  themselves  in  their  native 
haunts.  The  recess  on  the  left  had  been  con- 
verted into  a  cosy  corner,  a  luxuriously  uphol- 
stered seat  extending  round  the  three  sides,  above 
which  were  shelves  and  brackets  filled  with  curios, 
costly  bibelots,  and  quaint  old  china,  reminding 
one  of  a  shrine,  the  red  light  in  the  bronze  and 
crystal  lamp  carrying  out  the  illusion  as  it  hung 
between  the  portieres  that  partially  screened  the 
alcove  from  the  rest  of  the  apartment.  Door, 
window,  and  mantle  draperies  were  of  old-rose 
plush  ;  the  square  rug  almost  covering  th&  highly 
polished  floor  was  gray,  with  crushed  roees  strewn 
here  and  there,  as  if  blown  from  the  wreath 
that  formed  the  border.  A  large  Turkish  divan 
and  luxurious  easy-chair  were  covered  in  cretonne, 
straw  and  fancy  chairs  were  either  in  gray  or  rose  ; 
in  fact  the  prevailing  tone  of  the  room  was  gray 
and  rose  dashed  with  yellow,  the  last  conspicu- 


14 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


ous  in  the  fire-irons,  fender,  and  brass  poles 
above  doors  and  windows.  Great  logs  were  roar- 
ing and  crackling  in  the  wide  chimney  ;  the  flames, 
leaping  and  jumping,  now  lighting  up  this  corner, 
now  that,  were  the  only  light  in  the  room  save 
the  little  red  one  before  the  alcove.  On  the 
right  of  the  fireplace  stood  the  cretonne  easy- 
chair,  with  open  arms  as  if  expecting  an  occu- 
pant ;  on  the  left  was  the  divan,  its  head  towards 
the  cosy  corner ;  and  between  it  and  the  door 
opposite  was  a  screen  in  gold  and  white.  Tables 
were  scattered  about  ad  libitum^  some  filled  with 
books  and  photos,  some  with  flowers  and  bric-a- 
brac  ;  a  large  double-decker,  with  cups,  saucers, 
tea-caddy,  thin  bread  and  butter — in  short,  all  the 
accessories  of  a  tea-table — stood  near  the  head 
of  the  couch. 

Curled  up  on  the  sofa,  almost  buried  in  in- 
numerable pillows  of  liberty  silk,  reclined  the 
divinity  of  the  place.  She  was  in  keeping  with 
her  surroundings;  but  how  describe  her? 

Diderot  advises  those  who  would  paint  in 
writing  a  woman,  "  to  dip  their  pen  in  the  rain- 
bow,  and  brush  the  paper  with  a  butterfly's  wing." 
Very  poetical  but  hardly  practical,  except  as  a 
reminder  of  the  light  and  delicate  touch  required 
when  woman  is  the  theme.  Dorothy  was  of 
medium  height,  slight  and  delicately  formed, 
small  head,  low  forehead,  dark-brown  hair  worn 


\ 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


>5 


high,  straight  nose,  small,  determined  mouth.  In 
repose  she  was  pretty,  animated  she  was  superb. 
It  was  her  eyes  people  said  that  made  the  differ- 
ence, and  at  the  same  time  many  did  not  admire 
them.  They  were  blue  framed  in  black,  not  only 
by  the  long,  curling  lashes,  but  by  the  blue  veins 
which  came  prominently  to  the  surface  on  the 
under  lid  extending  back  to  the  temples  ;  not 
what  the  French  call  cern^,  and  we  sometimes  term 
"  set  with  dirty  fingers,"  but  something  utterly 
injefinable.  People  never  knew  how  to  interpret 
those  eyes.  They  were  naturally  almond-shaped, 
and  Dorothy  commonly  looked  out  of  them  side- 
ways, but  if  she  did  not  understand  the  question 
at  issue,  or  wished  to  reprove,  she  raised  her  lids 
and  seemed  to  be  looking  you  through  and 
through  with  two  round  inquiring  orbs  that  re- 
vealed nothing  but  wonder  on  the  part  of  the 
possessor.  Dora  was  quite  unconscious  of  how 
she  looked  at  such  times  or  affected  others, 
though  she  knew  the  look  was  peculiar  from  having 
been  repeatedly  reproved  for  it  in  childhood. 
More  than  once  her  father  had  said  to  her,  "  Don't 
look  at  me  in  that  way  ;  you  hear  what  I  say  ; 
lower  your  eyes ;  "  and  on  one  occasion  at  school 
she  had  so  annoyed  her  mistress  by  it  that  she 
sent  the  child  to  her  room  for  the  day,  promising 
to  punish  her  severely  if  she  ever  looked  at  her 
in  that  way  again. 


i6 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Y^ 


\.\ 


■1 


l\ 


Dorothy  distinctly  remembered  that  memorable 
day,  from  having  spent  the  greater  part  of  it  be- 
fore the  glass  trying  to  recall  the  offending  look, 
but  without  success,  so  gave  it  up.  Just  now 
these  eyes  are  very  soft  and  dreamy,  as  she  lies 
there  in  the  firelight  sleepily  watching  the  antics 
of  her  little  black-and-tan  dog  as  he  tries  to  de- 
molish a  large  yellow-satin  bow  tied  to  the  leg  of 
a  white  enamelled  milking-stool,  heaped  high  with 
the  latest  magazines  and  novels.  "  Won't  it  come, 
Mahdi?  Never  say  die,  my  boy!  Rats — rats 
is  the  word  !  "  she  cried,  egging  him  on. 

Incited  to  desperation  Mahdi  gave  a  hard  pull,  a 
long  pull,  and  a  pull  altogether,  which  brought 
ribbon,  stool^  books,  and  Mahdi  with  them,  tum- 
bling down  pell-mell. 

The  latter,  determined  to  be  revenged  upon 
something,  rushed  at  one  of  the  dainty  ruffled 
sofa-pillows  and  was  tossing  it  madly  as  if  it  were 
a  real  rat  and  not  one  stuffed  with  feathers,  when 
a  sharp  ring  was  heard  at  the  door.  Mahdi  gave 
a  disgusted  little  bark,  and  a  parting  shake  at  the 
cushion,  then  walked  off,  turned  round  three  times, 
and  curled  himself  up  on  the  great  black-fur  rug 
in  front  of  the  fire,  very  much  as  his  mistress  did 
on  the  sofa.  The  resemblance  went  so  far  in  this 
instance  that  each  shut  an  eye  and  made  believe 
to  be  asleep,  when  Harry  Alexander,  laden  with 
guide-books,  parted  the   portieres.     Often  as   he 


i:i^-'  1 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  I/UAT  SOULS. 


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had  been  in  that  room  before,  its  comfort  and 
beauty  never  so  impressed  him  as  now.  The 
warmth  and  harmony  were  bewitching  ;  he  feared 
to  breathe  lest  he  should  break  the  spell.  He  felt 
so  earthy,  so  out  of  place  in  this  enchanted  spot  ; 
and  yet  there  were  few  drawing-rooms  on  this 
mundane  sphere  where  Harry  Alexander  would 
not  have  been  welcome.  His  handsome,  smooth- 
shaven,  boyish  face  was  an  open-sesame  wherever 
he  went.  He  was  a  great  six-footer,  with  a  round 
head  well  set  above  his  square  shoulders,  a  deep 
chest,  tender  gray-blue  eyes,  firm  mouth  which 
often  smiled,  rarely  laughed.  Repressed  energy 
was  evident  in  every  feature  and  every  movement. 
A  stranger's  first  impression  upon  seeing  him  was, 
how  clean  he  looked  ! — his  complexion  being  that 
fresh  pink  that  Englishmen  frequently  have, 
suggesting  the  idea  of  frequent  bathing,  nay  more, 
scrubbing  with  soap  and  lufer. 

As  Harry  lingered,  hesitating  to  intrude  upon 
the  scene  before  him,  Dorothy  sprang  up,  ex- 
claiming joyfully  "  O  Harry,  is  it  you  ?  I'm  no  end 
glad  you  have  come ;  I  felt  so  lonely  in  this  storm, 
not  a  soul  but  cook  and  Jenkins  to  speak  to." 

**  Poor  child  !  But  don't  let  me  disturb  you  ;  lie 
down  again,  I  beg  of  you  ;  you  can't  think  how  nice 
you  looked  there.  At  first  I  thought  no  one  was  in 
the  room  ;  then  I  saw  you.  These  half-lights  are 
bewitching.  Your  room  is  a  poem,  and  you  in  your 

2 


Z3rx: 


i8 


KERCHIEFS  TO  I/U.VT  SOULS, 


^ 


pretty  tea-gown  are  in  harmony  with  it.  I  trust 
I'm  not  Discord?  "  he  exchiimed  in  his  low,  deep 
voice,  that  was  almost  a  caress,  so  perfect  was  the 
modulation.     "  Were  you  asleep?" 

"  Hardly  !  I'm  awfully  glad  to  se  j  you.  Do  you 
know,  I'd  given  you  up — I  was  afraid  you  were 
snow-bound  ;  you  were  plucky  to  venture  ;  didn't 
you  find  the  drifts  deep?" 

"Oh,  rather  ;  it  will  be  a  week  before  the  horses 
can  get  to  town  ;  I  came  in  on  snow-shoes." 

"  Fancy  !  You  must  be  done  up  after  a  ten-mile 
walk  in  such  a  storm,  and  with  those  books  too." 

"  Yes,  it's  beastly  weather,  but  I'll  put  up  at  the 
Brunswick  for  the  night.  And  do  you  know  you 
are  so  jolly  comfortable  here  it  pays  a  fellow  for 
tramping  it." 

"  Do  sit  down  ;  here's  your  sleepy  hollow  wait- 
ing for  you  at  the  fireside.  I'll  brew  you  some 
bohea." 

"  And  did  you  really  think  of  me, Dorothy,  when 
you  placed  it  there?  " 

"  Yes,  really  ;  only  don't  be  too  proud,  for  it  was 
avec  malice,  for  fear  you  might  choose  to  sit  on  the 
sofa  with  me,  which  is  quite  too  small  for  two,  un- 
less I  banish  some  of  the  cushions." 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  be  so  presumptuous.  I 
have  long  ago  resigned  all  idea  of  sharing  your 
throne,  Dorothy,  though  I  hope  to  induce  you 
some  day  to  come  down  to  my  level.     But  fancy 


i 


A 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


>9 


such  a  sybarite  as  you  to  be  talking  of  giving  this 
all  up  and  going  out  alone  into  the  cold  world  ! 
Joking  apart,  I  see  your  furniture  is  advertised. 
So  you  are  to  have  a  sale,  and  scatter  your  house- 
hold goods  among  the  unwashed?" 

"  Yes,  after  Easter  ;  but  I  shall  not  sacrifice  my 
penates  ;  none  of  my  presents  are  to  be  sold.  And 
that  reminds  me,  Harry  ;  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if 
you  would  mind  giving  them  house-room  while  I 
was  away."  •  •  a 

"  Willingly,"  he  said  ;  then  quickly  added,  "  But 
why  have  an  auction  at  all  ?  I  want  a  house  in 
town.  I'll  buy  your  things  just  as  they  stand, 
and  you'll  find  them  all  in  their  places  whenever 
you  come  back.     Isn't  that  a  good  idea  ?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  no !  it  would  be  a  perfect 
farce  ;  I  might  as  well  borrow  the  money  from  you 
first  hand,  and  be  done  with  it." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  you  would  ,  won't  you  let  me 
lend  it  to  you,  Dorothy  ? — don't  shake  your  head 
and  look  so  severe  ;  I'm  not  asking  you  to  marry 
me." 

"Oh!  the  same  chapter  over  again  with  a  new 
heading.  Must  I  repeat,  Harry,  that  I  will  not 
barter  my  liberty  for  filthy  lucre;  in  other  words, 
sell  myself  for  creature  comforns  ?  " 

"You  are  a  very  independent  woman  for  a 
pretty  one,  Dorothy.  I  always  thought  beauty  and 
dependence  inseparable  in  woman,  till  I  met  you." 


sspsrs&ssnsBe 


KEK CHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


\\ 


"  Well,  I  am  not  a  beauty,  and  you  thought 
wrong,  as  you  often  do  when  you  think  of  us.  It 
is  amazing  how  illogical  men  are  when  they  dis- 
cuss women.  You  are  ages  behind  the  times,  my 
boy !  You  must  know  that  silliness  is  not  the 
fashion  nowadays ;  every  woman  wants  to  be 
thought  clever,  even  if  she  is  not.  I  suppose 
strong-mindedness  is  a  bugbear  to  some  men,  and 
may  account  for  my  having  had  my  share  of  ad- 
mirers but  never  a  lover.  I  am  like  an  old  bach- 
elor beau  of  ours,  who  when  we  asked  him  why 
he  never  married,  said  he  could  lead  the  horses 
to  water,  but  could  not  make  them  drink.  I'm 
not  strong-minded,  Harry  ;  I  only  make  believe 
to  be.  As  you  say,  I  have  been  badly  brought  up 
on  romantic  literature  ;  one  of  the  first  novels  I 
ever  read  was  '  the  Heir  of  Redcliffe  * ;  and  my 
ideal  happiness  is  to  have  for  lover  one  who  will 
go  through  fire  and  water  for  my  sake." 

"  In  other  words,"  Harry  grimly  said,  "  anyone 
willing  to  blow  out  his  own  brains  or  some  fan- 
cied rival's  for  your  sake.  I  thought  better  of  you, 
Dorothy,  but  you  are  like  the  rest  of  your  sex." 

"  Thanks  for  the  compliment,  Harry,  but  feel- 
ings of  that  kind  are  not  confined  exclusively  to 
my  sex,  I  can  assure  you  ;  I  want  to  feel  the  love 
that  makes  a  man  forget  family,  fortune,  fame, 
everything,  to  marry  some  ignorant  girl  far  beneath 
him  in  social  rank." 


KE  Ran  EPS  TO  irUNT  SOULS. 


tf 


"You  arc  pursuinfj  an  ignis  fatuuSyY^ox^',  it 
makes  me  furious  when  I  think  how  that  poor 
word  Love'x'^  twisted  and  tortured;  it  is  the  most 
elastic  term  in  our  language.  We  have  love  of 
God,  paternal  and  maternal  love,  love  for  our 
brothers  and  sisters,  relations  and  friends,  for  our 
neighbors,  and  even  for  our  enemies;  and  the  one 
word  ^i  express  it  all,  from  the  love  of  the  Creator 
to  thac  which  ends  in  marriage.  Friendship  is 
quite  as  noble  a  sentiment,  and  has  often  sur- 
passed the  love  of  man  for  woman,  yet  you  and 
those  who  think  as  you  do  are  shocked  at  the  idea 
of  marrying  for  friendship.  The  fact  is,  the  amount 
of  paganism  that  we  have  preserved  side  by  side 
with  Christianity  is  appalling,  and  in  no  one  thing 
is  this  coquetting  with  the  vague  more  observable 
than  in  the  marriages  sanctioned  by  so-called  Chris- 
tians. Shakespeare,  Byron,  Shelley,  and  Burns, 
men  whose  lives  were  far  from  good,  have  become 
our  high  priests  of  love.  Quite  recently  I  saw  in 
a  goody  book,  *  Love  can  be  happy  anywhere  ' ; 
to  prove  which  Byron's  words  were  quoted  : 

" '  O  that  the  desert  were  my  dwelling-place, 
With  one  fair  spirit  for  my  minister. 
That  I  might  all  forget  the  human  race,  '         .'  ' 

And  hating  no  one,  love  but  only  her.'         •  / 


"  Fancy  poor  Mrs.  Byron's  feelings  upon  reading 
those    lines — such     mawkish    sentiment !     Why, 


:^j 


' 


22 


KERCHIEI'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


^ 


•j,i 


then,  didn't  he  go  to  the  desert  with  his  fifth  or 
sixth  inamorata  ?  There  was  nothing  to  hinder 
him.  Song,  which  is  but  an  interpretation  of 
love,  has  from  time  immemorial  associated  wine 
and  woman.  Happily,  within  the  last  few  years, 
there  has  been  a  revulsion  against  the  adoration 
of  wine.  Bacchanalian  orgies  are  now  tabooed, 
and  it  is  quite  time  to  depose  Love.  Venus,  with 
her  blind  son,  has  reigned  long  enough  ;  let  us 
set  up  the  daughter  of  Uranus  in  her  place.  In 
literature  the  most  fearful  immorality  is  often 
inculcated  ;  love  is  made  a  cloak  to  cover  a  mul- 
titude of  sins.  Mallory  says  of  Guinevere  in 
*  Morte  d'Arthur,'  '  that  while  she  lived  she  was 
a  good  lover,  and,  therefore,  she  had  a  good  end  * 
— a  profane  travesty  of  our  Saviour's  words  in 
commendation  of  Mary  Magdalen :  *  In  that 
she  loved  much,  much  is  forgiven.'  No,  child, 
the  phantom  you  are  seeking  is  not  love  at  all, 
but  passion,  which  we  possess — some  more,  some 
less,  according  to  the  grossness  of  our  nature — in 
common  with  the  brute.  Fortunately  there  are 
beings  in  the  world  refined  and  spiritual  who 
love  with  their  mind,  soul,  heart,  and  strength, 
without  passion  or  even  a  breath  of  sensuality." 
"  And  there  are  some  men,"  said  Dorothy  a 
little  irrelevantly  and  mischievously,  "  who,  if 
they  are  proof  against  Cupid's  wiles,  yet  let  their 
theories  and  fads  run  away  with  them.     Now  you 


KERCHIEFS  rO  HUNT  SOULS. 


n 


I 


must  be  famishing  after  your  long  tramp  ;  let 
us  fortify  or  fiftify  the  inner  man ;  diWil,  h  propos 
dc  riot,  what  would  you  do,  Harry,  if  you 
were  in  a  desert  with  your  wife,  and  without  a 
cook,  and  with  nothing  to  eat  ?  " 

**  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  considering  the  short 
time  I  have  to  decide  upon  such  a  momentous 
question,  I  should  conclude.  Miss  Pembroke,  as 
there  was  no  food,  and  we  in  a  desert,  that  it 
was  a  matter  of  congratulation  that  the  cook 
was  not  with  us." 

Dorothy  burst  out  laughing:  "Oh,  I  say!  I 
put  it  badly  ;  what  I  mean  is,  what  would  you 
do  if  you  were  in  a  desert  with  your  ladylove 
and  both  were  hungry  ?  You  wouldn't  send  her 
off  alone  to  look  for  food,  Byron-like,  to  minister 
to  your  wants." 

"  No,  certainly  not  ;  I  would  go  with  her." 
Then  divining  from  a  quick,  impatient  shrug 
that  Dorothy  gave,  that  he  had  not  answered 
satisfactorily,  Harry  quickly  added :  "  But  I 
wouldn't  let  my  wife  minister  to  me ;  I  would 
do  the  foraging  and  take  her  with  me,  where  I 
suppose  she  would  prefer  to  be  than  alone  in  the 
desert —  But  I  cannot  see  what  you  are  driving 
at,  Dorothy."  «  ;:     . 

"  Only  this :  that  I  want  you  to  forage  for  me  now 
in  a  desert  kitchen  and  pantry.  Cook's  laid  up 
with  a  cold,  and  Jenkins  is  sitting  with    her — and 


^i  .... 


Sfe-T rtw-.'; 


i- 


»♦ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


t/ 


I  don't  want  to  call  her — and  I'm  starving — and 
I'm  sure  you  must  be." 

"  Spare  me  any  more  reasons  ;  I  accept  the  quest 
gladly  ;  but  will  not  my  ladylove  come  with  her 
knight  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  like  such  adventures  after  dark 
— early  associations,  you  know.  Once  when  I  was 
young  and  childish,  I  was  sent  to  bed  without 
my  supper,  and  in  the  night  I  awoke  famishing; 
stealthily  stealing  down  stairs  I  sought  the  pantiy, 
and  was  just  spreading  some  jam  on  a  great  bit 
of  bread  when  a  mouse  ran  across  the  floor ;  to  say 
that  I  screamed  is  a  mild  way  of  putting  it ;  I  only 
know  that  the  household  gathered  at  the  spot  like 
the  clans  at  the  sound  of  the  pibroch,  and  that 
I  spent  the  next  day  in  bed,  to  duly  impress  me 
with  the  horror  of  midnight  marauding.  So  indeli- 
bly has  the  lesson  been  inculcated  that  I  lose  all 
self-respect  and  feel  branded  with  the  mark  of 
robber  and  burglar  when  I  enter  my  own  pantry 
after  dark." 

"  From  your  vivid  description  of  the  dangers 
awaiting  me,  I  feel  very  much  as  I  imagine  Don 
Quixote  must  have  felt  before  the  battle  of  the 
windmills.  With  your  kind  permission,  lady  mine, 
I  shall  take  Mahdi  with  me,  and  this  trusty  shovel 
in  my  hand,  if  you  will  gird  the  poker  and  tongs 
to  my  thigh." 

So    saying,   Harry   set    forth    in    search  of  ad- 


\ 
'1 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


»5 


venture,  returning  ten  minutes  later  with  a  heap- 
ing tray,  which  he  was  about  to  place  on  a 
little  ottoman,  when  Dorothy  called  out : 

"  Not  there,  not  there,  Sir  Knight ; "  so  on  he 
moved  to  a  pretty  chair  without  arms  ;  but  again 
she  called  out,  "  Oh  !  that  is  my  very  best  chair  ; 
not  there." 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  the  tray  ? — hold  it  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening?"  he  naively  asked. 

"  No  ;  if  you  were  only  a  good  butler,  now,  and 
not  a  sham  knight,  you  would  know  that  you 
should  bring  in  a  table  before  you  bring  in  a  tray. 
You  may  take  it  out  and  see  if  you  can  do  better 
next  time." 

A  few  minutes  later  Harry  again  presented 
himself,  this  time  with  a  small  five-o'clock  table, 
which  he  placed  near  the  fire,  and  upon  which  he 
arranged  the  tray  in  the  most  approved  butler's 
style,  quite  to  Dorothy's  approbation. 

**  Well,  what's  your  plunder  ?  "  she  inquired, 
"  anything  worth  the  risk  ?  " 

"  I  must  confess,  Dorothy,  that  I  found  kitch- 
en and  pantry  swept  and  garnished,  but  there 
was  booty  in  the  sideboard  ;  see — half  a  chicken 
pie,  jam,  biscuits,  cheese;  not  to  mention  a  bottle 
of  stout.  In  the  kitchen  I  captured  a  toasting- 
fork,  and  am  now  going  to  prepare  you  a  dish  fit 
for  the    gods." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Alexander,  sitting  with  kn.  *^s 


\ 


26 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


crossed,  as  Lord  Buddha  sits,  began  the  mys- 
teries of  one  of  those  dishes  that  men  who 
have  any  fancy  for  the  cuHnary  art  dehght  in. 
By  the  way,  there  are  four  things  in  that  line  which 
a  mascuHne  flatters  himself  he  can  prepare  better 
than  any  woman,  to  wit :  a  salad,  a  curry,  a 
punch,  and  a  welsh  rabbit ;  and  Harry  was  not 
above  the  weakness  of  his  sex  in  this  respect — it 
was  a  welsh  rabbit  that  he  was  about  to  enter  into 
competition  with  the  ambrosia  of  the  gods. 

"  Prenez  garde,  audacious  mortal ;  remember 
that  Marsyas,  who  challenged  Apollo,  was  flayed 
alive." 

"  Fortunately  *  Vengeance  divine  to  punish  sin 
moves  slow.'  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  slower  its  pace  the  surer  its 
blow." 

"  Think  you  not  the  Lares  will  be  propitiated 
if  I  cast  a  liberal  portion  into  the  fire  ?  " 

After  an  hour  or  more  of  this  light  chaff 
Dorothy  said : 

"  And  now  I  want  to  hear  about  yourself. 
You  remember  you  promised  to  tell  me  when  you 
married  Hilda's  mother.  Won't  you  keep  your 
promise  now,  Harry  ?  " 

'*  If  you  want  the  details  you  shall  have  them. 
It  is  a  sad,  everyday  story,  though,"  he  added 
with  a  sigh. 


i 


KERCHIEFS  TO  IJUNT  SOULS. 


27 


/ 


CHAP  TER  TIT. 


I* 


*'As  every  body  hath  its  shadow,  so  every  sin  hath  its  punish- 
ment." 

It  took  a  few  minutes  to  settle  themselves  into 
the  position  of  narrator  and  listener.  Perhaps 
Harry  purposely  delayed  the  self-imposed  task  of 
revivifying  the  past,  but,  finally,  having  assumed 
the  position  so  often  affected  by  young  English- 
men, of  doubling  himself  up  like  a  half-open  jack- 
knife,  his  elbows  resting  upon  his  knees,  and  his 
hands  toying  with  whatever  was  nearest — this 
time  a  large  silver  paper-cutter — he  began  : 

"  I  hate  talking  about  myself,  Dorothy,  but  here 
goes.  I  want  you  to  know  everything ;  if  I  am 
prosy,  stop  me.  To  begin  at  th  ?  beginning.  It 
was  my  last  year  at  Cambridge.  I  was  one  of  the 
Varsity  eight,  and  as  happy  a  young  dare-devil  lad 
as  you  could  find  between  John  o'Groats  House 
and  Land's  End.  I  lodged  with  Mrs.  Anstruther, 
a  sad,  woe-begone  woman,  the  widow  of  an  army 
chaplain  who  I  afterwards  lea.ned  had  drunk 
himself  to  death,  after  cutting  up  generally. 
I   saw   little  of  my   landlady  ;  knew   she  had  a 


28 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


daughter  at  school  in  London,  but  hardly  gave 
her  a  thought,  when,  one  morning  in  rushing 
downstairs,  I  ran  against,  almost  knocking  down, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  young  girls  I  had  till 
then  ever  seen.  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  to 
qualify  this  by  confessing  that  my  acquaintance 
with  young  girls  up  to  that  time  had  been  rather 
limited,  having  neither  sister  nor  girl  cousins  to 
compare  with  this  vision  of  golden  hair,  blue  eyes, 
and  pink-and-white  complexion.  It  was  a  case 
of  love  at  first  sight ;  literally  blind  love,  for  we 
fell  in  love  with  each  other  as  we  fell  into  each 
other's  arms. 

"  Before  the  week  was  ended  we  had  plighted 
our  troth.  My  people,  as  you  may  imagine,  were 
opposed  to  our  union,  and  did  their  utmost  to 
bring  me  to  reason.  My  governor  was  awfully 
cut  up  about  it,  as  he  had  set  his  heart  upon  my 
going  into  politics — wanted  me  to  stand  for  the 
borough  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Finally  he  yielded 
so  far  as  to  say  that  if  we  would  postpone  our 
marriage  for  two  years,  I  being  only  twenty-one, 
and  Maude  not  quite  eighteen,  he  would  consent 
to  an  engagement.  But  I  was  madly,  passionately 
in  love,  which  I  then  thought  excuse  enough  for 
setting  aside  all  feelings  but  our  own.  A  month 
from  the  day  I  first  saw  Maude  we  were  secretly 
married.  I  willingly  threw  overboard  father, 
mother,  brother,  friends,  and  fortune  for  my  be- 


I 


1 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


29 


loved  ;  I  was  insanely  in  love — with  what  ?  With 
an  idea,  a  phantom,  a  creation  of  my  own  brain, 
with  a  sensation.  Had  I  been  a  poet  I  should 
have  written  sonnets  to  my  beloved's  mouth,  eyes, 
cheeks,  and  hair ;  rash  youth  that  I  was,  I  nailed 
my  .arguments  by  quoting  Scripture  to  prove  my- 
self in  the  right.  I  wrote  the  mother,  upon  her 
mildly  suggesting  that  my  passion  might  cool 
in  time :  *  Many  waters  cannot  quench  love, 
neither  can  the  floods  drown  it ;  if  a  man  would 
give  all  the  substance  of  his  house  for  love, 
it  would  utterly  be  contemned.'  My  father  car- 
ried out  his  threat  to  cut  me  off  with  the  pro- 
verbial shilling;  but  I  snapped  my  fingers  at  pov- 
erty, longing  for  the  chance  to  prove  my  love  by 
working  for  my  beloved.  It  was  not  as  easy  as  I 
imagined.  I  succeeded  finally  in  getting  some 
boys  to  coach,  which  was  not  a  competency  by 
any  means.  Maude  was  very  young  and  inex- 
perienced ;  she  knew  nothing  of  housekeeping  ; 
and  the  old  story  repeated  itself — as  poverty  was 
creeping  in  at  the  door,  love  was  flying  out  at 
the  window.  Then  Hilda  was  born  ;  forsomc  time 
previous  Maude  had  been  keeping  up  her  strength 
with  stimulants ;  I  paid  little  attention  to  it, 
thinking  it  only  a  temporary  depression  that 
would  pass  off  when  she  got  stronger.  But,  alas  ! 
it  was  an  inherited  taste,  and  soon  became  con- 
firmed.    Even  this  did   not  cool  my  passion  or 


"na 


3^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


W 


I 


rouse  me  to  the  horror  of  perpetuating  beings 
weighted  with  so  perilous  an  heredity.  Another 
little  girl  was  born,  whom  the  good  God  merci- 
fully recalled  almost  as  soon  as  given.  Things 
kept  going  from  bad  to  worse.  Six  years  of 
penury  followed  our  marriage  ;  when  things  were 
at  their  lowest  the  post  brought  one  morning 
a  letter  from  my  father's  solicitor  informing  me 
that,  by  my  mother's  death,  I  had  succeeded  to 
her  property.  I  at  once  wrote  the  governor,  but 
he  took  no  notice  of  the  letter.  However,  our  rec- 
tor wrote  me,  at  the  mother's  dying  request,  of 
her  forgiveness,  though  I  fear,  from  what  he 
said,  she  never  got  over  my  marriage  and  subse- 
quent estrangement.  It  was  then  that  my  con- 
duct, as  selfish  and  blamable,  appeared  to  me  in 
its  true  light.  I  was  now  independent,  thanks  to 
my  dear  mother,  and  determined  to  devote  my 
life  to  my  wife  and  child.  I  left  Cambridge  and 
took  my  family  to  Chenehurst,  my  place  in  the 
the  country.  What  a  proud  father  I  was  when 
my  son  was  born  a  few  months  after  !  how  many 
plans  I  made  !  True,  he  was  a  puny,  sickly  little 
fellow,  with  a  big  head  ;  but  we  engaged  a  farmer's 
wife,  a  healthy,  strapping  woman,  for  foster- 
mother,  and  hoped  for  the  best.  He  soon  began 
to  pick  up,  only  the  head  was  always  too  heavy 
for  the  body.  Our  village  doctor  advised  consulting 
a  London  specialist " 


r 


\ 


wmmm 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


3» 


fi 


V 


Harry's  voice  trembled,  then  a  gulp,  and  he 
broke  down  altogether.  As  he  stooped  to  pick 
up  the  paper-knife  that  had  fallen  from  his 
hand,  Dorothy,  almost  as  much  moved  as  he, 
glided  from  the  sofa,  and,  drawing  up  a  little 
stool,  sat  down  close  beside  him.  He,  how- 
ever, was  so  carried  away  by  his  reminiscences 
that  for  the  moment  he  almost  forgot  his  com- 
panion, and  it  was  only  when  she  took  his  hand 
and  pressed  it  that  he  noticed  how  pale  and  tear- 
ful she  was. 

.  "  Forgive  me,  Dorothy  ;  I  can't  talk  of  it  coolly 
yet,  it  is  too  recent — but  I'm  a  brute  to  harrow 
your  feelings,  child  ;  you  have  enough  troubles 
of  your  own  to  bear." 

**  Oh  !  don't  mind  me,"  she  whispered  ;  "  I'm 
only  sorry  I  asked  you  to  tell  me;  don't  go  on, 
dear,  I  can  imagine  the  rest — your  little  boy  died 
too  ! " 

**  Would  to  heaven  he  had  !  No,  Dorothy,  the 
physician  confirmed  our  worst  fears  ;  my  son  is  a 
hopeless  idiot,  and  lives  still  in  an  asylum." 

"  Oh,  how  dreadful !     Is  there  no  hope  ?  " 

"  None  in  this  world.  I  thought  I  felt  my 
mother's  death,  but  it  was  nothing  to  this.  I  had 
married  in  haste;  I  was  indeed  snting  at 
leisure."     After  a  pause  he  went  on  :  . 

"  Some  one  has  said  that  the  threshold  of  love 
and  hate  join.     I  trust   I   never  had  hate  in  my 


'/ 


32 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


heart  for  Maude ;  but  such  a  loathing  and  aver- 
sion came  over  me  that,  Cain-like,  I  cried  unto 
the  Lord,  '  My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can 
bear.'  I  still  had  my  daughter  ;  for  her  sake  I  re- 
mained at  Chenehurst.  I  forbade  the  use  or  en- 
trance of  all  intoxicants  into  the  house,  but  as  my 
mother-in-law  was  living  with  us,  it  was  next  to 
impossible  to  keep  them  out.  But  enough  of  these 
details;  suffice  it  to  say  that  I  might  have  still 
been  there  but  for  an  accident.  One  day  Hilda 
was  taken  suddenly  ill.  I  hastened  to  fetch  the 
physician,  leaving  the  child  in  her  mother's  care. 
The  doctor  being  from  home,  I  was  detained 
longer  than  I  expected.  When  we  returned 
mother  and  child  were  lying  side  by  side  on  the 
bed  in  a  drunken  sleep.  It  was  the  last  straw — 
they  must  be  separated.  Should  I  send  the 
former  to  a  home,  or  the  latter  to  a  school  ? 
Neither.  I  gave  Maude  Chenehurst  and  an  in- 
come to  keep  it  up  as  long  as  she  remained  there  ; 
once  leave  it,  and  she  forfeited  all.  I  snatched 
my  child  like  a  brand  from  the  burning,  and 
sought  oblivion  in  Canada.  You  know  the  rest, 
Dora.  Kind  Providence  sent  you  in  my  path. 
My  farm  has  been  an  occupation,  but  it  is  you 
who  have  kept  me  in  touch  with  God  and  man, 
and  prevented  my  losing  all  faith  in  womankind. 
Hilda,  too,  loves  you  dearly  ;  you  are  her  model ; 
to  be  Hke  Miss  Pembroke  is  her  ambition.     If  I 


31 


"fW 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


33 


did  not  know  you  myself,  I  should  love  you, 
Dorothy,  for  what  you  have  done  for  my  child." 

"  When  did  your  wife  die,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Some  two  years  after  I  came  out  here.  Poor 
girl  I  Only  twenty-six,  and  such  a  life  \ — blighted 
by  the  sins  of  her  fathers.  Do  you  wonder, 
Dora,  that  it  is  like  another  death  to  me  to  have 
you  go  away  ?  Stay  ;  you  say  you  want  a  life- 
work  :  here  it  is  all  cut  out  for  you ;  let  my 
child  be  your  child,  help  me  to  bring  her  up  to  be 
a  noble  Christian  woman.  Don't  you  love  Hilda? 
Don't  you  care  what  becomes  of  her  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  I  do  love  her  dearly,  and  since 
you  have  told  me  of  your  past  life  I  have  a  dif- 
ferent feeling  for  you,  Harry,  from  what  I  had 
before  ;  a  sort  of  love  akin  to  pity.  Now,  I  know 
you  would  not  have  me  marry  you  for  pity  ;  but 
did  it  ever  strike  you  that  your  courtship  (it 
would  be  a  misnomer  to  call  it  love-making)  has 
been  carried  on  in  an  odd  sort  of  way  to  capti- 
vate a  young  woman's  fancy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  hardly  according  to  the  romantic  school, 
I  must  confess.  I  suppose  I  am  too  old  and 
serious — why,  I  am  ten  years  your  senior,  Dor- 
othy, and  a  widower  at  that.  Yes,  my  attach- 
ment for  you  is  certainly  peculiar ;  sometimes  I 
feel  it  is  semi-brotherly  or  even  semi-fatherly, 
I  often  find  myself  thinking  of  and  planning  your 
future  as  if  you  were  an  elder  sister  of  Hilda's. 


if 


ssiaaaa/gsKs 


'   I 


/'  5: 


S4 


KERCniEfS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


It  seems  unnatural  for  you  to  be  all  alone  in  the 
world,  child,  you  are  so  romantic,  so  pretty,  so 
unsuspicious.  My  idea  when  I  asked  you  to 
marry  me  was  like  what  I  suppose  Monsieur  Rc- 
camier's  must  have  been  when  he  married  Made- 
moiselle Bernard — your  happiness  was  my  one 
thought ;  but  I  suppose  such  a  union  could  not 
take  place  out  of  F* ranee.  That  reminds  me  that 
I  hccird  some  news  of  you  the  other  day — some- 
thing you  never  told  me." 

"  News  of  me  ?  Why,  I  tell  you  everything  ; 
you  are  my  father  confessor." 

"  Truly?  Perhaps  you  forgot  this  time.  When 
I  was  dining  at  the  Bishop's  last  Tuesday  Mrs. 
Mann-^fs  told  me  that  when  they  were  home  last 
they  saw  a  lot  of  your  aunt.  Lady  Vincent,  who 
said  she  was  going  to  write  and  ask  you  to  visit 
her,  as  she  had  set  her  heart  on  marrying  you 
to  an  old  East  Indian  friend  of  theirs  who  was 
returning  to  England  for  a  wife — and  the  good 
of  his  liver.  You  did  not  tell  me,  Dorothy,  that 
you  were  going  to  visit  your  mother's  people  at 
home." 

"  Neither  am  I.  My  aunt  did  ask  me,  but  I 
shall  give  them  a  wide  berth.  They  treated 
mamma  abominably,  and  can't  say  hard  enough 
things  against  my  father,  which  I  wouldn't  stand, 
you  may  be  sure.  Lady  Vincent  is  a  born  match- 
maker ;  they  say  she  has  married  off  all  her  own 


iJ 


\> 


sr.;. 


I 


i 


' 


fl« 


'p 


f 


I 


f\ 


Mb'^ 


I 


KEKCIUEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


35 


daughters  much  to  her  satisfaction,  and  now 
wants  to  try  her  hand  upon  me;  but  she'd  find 
I'm  made  of  different  stuff.  Fancy  how  my  inde- 
pendent notions  would  shock  her!  I  should  not 
be  in  the  house  a  day  before  I  should  be  talking 
of  my  school  and  pupils.  I  must  gang  my  ain 
gait." 

"  In  that  case  the  Indian  nabob  has  not  much 
of  a  chance,  I  fear." 

"  Not  a  ghost!"  and  the  girl's  merry  laugh  rang 
out  loud  and  clear.  '*  You  don't  catch  me  throw- 
ing over  such  a  dear,  good-looking  boy  as  you 
for  a  yellow,  weazened-up  East  Indian.  You 
were  not  jealous,  were  you,  Hal  ?  " 

"  Not  a  particle ;  and  now  one  parting  bit  of 
advice  and  I'm  gone.  I  know  you  will  be  true 
as  steel  to  your  conscience  and  principles  of  right, 
Dora,  but  don't  marry  any  man  with  the  quix- 
otic idea  of  reforming  him  ;  remember,  what  a 
man  Is  before  marriage  he  will,  in  all  likelihood, 
be  after  ;  if  he  has  sown  wild  oats  he — and  others, 
too,  unfortunately — must  reap  them.  No  man 
that  has  a  past  to  bury  can  keep  it  below  ground  ; 
the  revenant  will  be  constantly  obtruding  itself ; 
he  cannot  lay  it.  You  spoke  just  now  of  marry- 
ing me  for  pity ;  marry  no  man  out  of  pity." 

"  I  don't  intend  to  if  I  know  myself.  And  now, 
dear  Harry,  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you 
which  pride  kept  me  from  doing   before.     Will 


i 


I\ 


II  ; 


/-? 


36 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


you  give  me  a  year  to  take  my  fling  in  ?  It  is  not 
likely  I  shall  come  across  a  lover  in  Europe ;  they 
do  not  marry  portionless  girls  there,  and  with 
change  of  scene  and  people,  my  views  may  change 
too ;  I  may  then  see  things  as  you  do." 

"  You  want  me  to  wait  a  year  for  you — is  that 
it,  Dora  ?  I  shall  never  marry  if  I  do  not  marry 
you.  I  shall  be  yours,  whether  you  marry  me  or 
another  ;  in  good  report  or  in  evil,  in  health  or  in 
sickness,  so  God  help  me.  Take  your  wander- 
jahre ;  whenever  you  return  you  will  find  me  in 
waiting.  The  Lord  watch  between  thee  and  me 
when  we  are  absent  one  from  another,"  he  re- 
peated in  a  husky  voice  as  he  clasped  her  hand  in 
both  of  his,  his  favorite  and  only  caress. 

With  a  murmured  "  Amen,"  Dora  bowed  her 
head  and  kissed  his  hand.  It  was  the  first  time  a 
kiss  ever  passed  between  them,  and  she  had  been 
the  one  to  proffer  it. 

Quickly  withdrawing  his  hands,  and  letting 
hers  fall,  he  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice  : 

"  Don't  do  that  again,  Dora,  either  to  me  or  to 
any  other  man." 

He  made  no  attempt  to  return  the  caress,  and 
hurriedly  took  his  leave. 

As  the  door  closed,  Dorothy  made  a  rush  to- 
wards it  as  if  she  would  call  him  back,  then  stopped 
irresolute,  finally  turned  and  threw  herself  on  the 
sofa  in  a  passion  of  tears. 


4'f 


I,/ 


.» 


•   ft 


'J 


^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


37 


"Of  what  use?"  she  murmured;  "it  would 
only  be  the  same  thing  over  again,  the  same 
arguments  for  and  against,  that  IVe  argued 
with  myself  for  the  last  year.  I  must  have 
something  more  than  friendship  ;  I  must  have 
love.  I  never  have  had  it,  not  even  the  father- 
and-mother  love  that  most  girls  have ;  with  me 
it  has  been  give,  give.  I've  hosts  of  friends, 
but  the  moment  any  of  them  is  called  away  by 
self-love  or  ambition,  I  am  sacrificed.  Even  the 
pupils  that  I  love  best,  and  do  most  for,  cheerfully 
say  good-bye  when  the  holidays  come,  never  giv- 
ing a  thought  to  me  whom  they  leave  alone  and 
loveless.  Why  is  it  that  I  never  inspire  love,  only 
admiration — I  who  so  long  for  it  that  I  some- 
times think  that  I  would  willingly,  Faust-like, 
barter  my  soul  for  it  ?  I  know  that  I'm  pretty  ;  if 
my  glass  did  not  tell  me  so,  I've  had  compliments 
enough  to  turn  most  girls'  heads.  It  was  only  last 
week  Mrs.  Newhall  wrote  begging  me  to  give  the 
famous  English  painter  who  is  out  here  a  sitting 
for  the  Madonna  in  his  great  picture.  How  little 
Mrs.  Newhall  understands  me  if  she  thinks  to 
flatter  me  in  that  way !  Fancy  a  strange  man 
looking  me  over  as  if  I  were  a  wax  doll,  or  even 
worse — one  of  those  wretched  models — and  finally 
deciding  that  my  nose  was  the  hundredth  part  of 
an  inch  too  short,  or  my  forehead  the  thousandth 
part  of  an  inch  too  high,  for  his  ideal  Madonna. 


wmmA^ 


T- 


38 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


m 


Bah  !  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  Magdalen  I  should 
make?  Why  did  not  Harry  kiss  me  when  he 
went  ?  I  half  hoped  he  would,  for  I  like  him  and 
might  love  him  if  he  would  only  let  me,  but  he 
is  so  awfully  conscientious  and  frightfully  honest 
with  me.  Why  need  he  constantly  reiterate  that 
he  does  not  love  me  better  than  his  child,  only 
differently  ?  I  don't  want  him  to  love  me  better  ; 
of  course  he  ought  to  love  Hilda,  she  is  a  dear 
little  thing  and  I  love  her  too ;  but  all  the  same 
I  want  him  to  love  me  to  distraction." 

Musing  thus,  quite  unconscious  of  time  and 
place,  Dorothy  lay  with  her  head  buried  in  the 
cushions  till  the  gray  dawn  struggling  in  at  the 
eastern  window  warned  her  that  night  had  flown. 

" '  Pack  clouds  away  and  welcome  day,  with 
night  we  banish  sorrow,'  "  she  philosophically  re- 
peated, as  she  sought  her  room  to  bathe  and  dress 
for  another  day's  battle.  "  I  don't  regret  one  bit 
what  Fve  done  ;  I  would  do  the  same  if  I  had  to  do 
it  over  again." 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


39 


CHAPTER    IV. 


1 


"  Love  is  merely  a  madness,  and  I  tell  you  deserves  as  well  a 
dark  house  and  a  whip  as  madmen  do  ;  and  the  reason  why  they 
are  not  punished  and  cured,  ijs,  that  the  lunacy  is  so  ordinary  that 
the  whippers  are  in  love  too." — Shakespeare. 

Few  women  in  this  world  were  so  completely- 
isolated  by  -^es  of  circumstances,  while  dwell- 
ing in  the  midst  of  their  fellow-beings,  as  was 
Dorothy  Pembroke.  Not  that  she  was  without 
relations  and  friends  ;  it  was  rather  the  isolation 
of  a  crowd,  where  everybody  is  eager  about  his 
own  business,  and  pays  slight  attention  to  yours. 
Drop  out  of  the  ranks,  and  somebody  near  fills 
the  gap.  The  Rev.  Venus  Pembroke,  Dorothy's 
father,  was  an  Anglican  clergyman  of  the  ex- 
treme low  party.  Tall,  florid,  sandy  hair,  and 
mutton-chop  whiskers,  cold  blue  eyes  behind  gold 
spectacles,  high  forehead,  the  effect  heightened 
by  hi?  receding  hair;  big  hands,  big  feet,  white 
teeth,  and  unctuous  smile ;  the  sort  of  man  well 
content  with  himself  and  his  surroundings,  his 
whole  appearance  seems  to  say,  as  he  slowly  rubs 
his  hands  :  "  The  Lord  has  been  very  good  to  me. 
He  has  showered  upon  me  so  many  special   bene- 


40 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


i  !  I 


I  I!i 


I    i     >■ 


fits."  Naturally  such  a  man  magnified  his  office, 
and  took  as  a  matter  of  course  the  homage  of  the 
women-folk  surrounding  him.  One  slave  at  least 
he  must  have ;  when  a  child  it  was  his  mother, 
after  that  it  was  his  wife.  His  God  was  the  Bible  ; 
he  literally  worshipped  every  word  in  it  from 
cover  to  cover.  A  St.  Augustine  man,  shortly 
after  his  ordination  he  was  sent  out  to  Canada, 
leading  with  him,  after  the  manner  of  St.  Peter 
and  the  other  apostles,  a  dear  sister,  a  little  Eng- 
lish daisy,  orphan  and  heiress,  whom,  after  he  had 
induced  her  to  sell  all  and  lay  it  at  his  feet,  he 
married.  She  was  of  no  account  in  the  parish 
except  to  point  a  moral  as  a  model  wife,  submit- 
ting herself  unto  her  husband  as  unto  the  Lord. 
She  hung  upon  his  words  as  if  he  were  the  mouth- 
piece of  the  Almighty,  and  his  utterances  divine  ; 
learning  in  silence  with  all  subjection,  and  believ- 
ing that  woman  shall  be  saved  in  childbearing  if 
she  continue  in  faith  and  charity  and  holiness, 
healthiness  with  sobriety. 

Twenty  summers  of  this  domestic  bliss  min- 
gled with  twenty  winters  of  discontent,  and  the 
child-wife,  grown  gray  in  the  service,  was  released 
from  the  bondage  and  called  up  higher,  leaving 
ten  little  slaves  in  her  place.  Dorothy,  the  eldest 
girl,  did  her  best  to  fill  the  void ;  helped  the  chil- 
dren with  their  lessons,  looked  after  their  clothes, 
superintended  the   housekeeping,   kept    the    ac- 


I 


II 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


41 


%% 


\.i 


counts,  paid  visits,  and  made  a  point  of  being 
nicely  dressed  for  dinner  and  at  liberty  in  the 
evening  to  amuse  her  father;  all  without  a  word 
of  thanks  from  him.  Why  should  she  not  do  it  ? 
Was  she  not  eighteen — older  than  her  mother  was 
when  she  married  ?  and  she  had  done  it.  He  for- 
got that  it  had  come  upon  the  latter  gradually, 
and  that  it  was  the  last  straw  that  had  killed  her. 

However,  Dorothy  had  a  good  constitution  and 
great  vitality,  and  was  sustained  by  a  feeling  that 
if  things  did  not  go  well,  her  father  could  easily 
get  another  housekeeper  from  among  the  many 
women  who  were  making  his  slippers  and  pinballs  ; 
so,  without  a  murmur,  she  renounced  all  thought 
of  marriage  for  herself,  and  willingly  gave  up  the 
best  years  of  her  young  life  to  him  and  the  chil- 
dren. Just  as  things  seemed  to  be  getting  easier 
— the  boys  at  school  or  in  business  for  themselves, 
and  she  free  to  indulge  in  a  few  day-dreams — she 
was  rudely  recalled  to  earth  by  her  father  inform- 
ing her  of  his  contemplated  wedlock  with  a 
young  woman  some  years  her  junior.  Naturally 
she  remonstrated,  and  was  told  that  if  she  did  not 
like  it  she  might  go  ;  and  go  she  did.  Tw  ..i;y-four 
hours  from  then  she  was  sitting  homeless  and 
friendless  in  a  train  bound  for  Guysborough. 

What  should  she  do?  She  had  talents  and 
ability,  but,  unfortunately,  no  specialty ;  in  nothing 
was  she  proficient.   Her  father  was  opposed  to  the 


f 


IM 


/I 


i  ^ 


1    I 


ili 


:i 


f  i 


1  :  ! 


I   * 


42 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


modern  idea  of  higher  education  for  women  ;  he 
gloried  in  being  conservative,  and  expatiated  both 
in  and  out  of  the  pulpit  upon  the  beauty  of  gentle, 
clinging  females  after  St.  Paul's  model ;  women 
who  dare  not  express  an  opinion  until  they  have 
first  ascertained  their  father's  or  their  husband's  ; 
forgetting  that,  at  the  last  day,  no  woman  can 
shield  herself  behind  such  flimsy  Chinese  ram- 
parts ;  each  will  then  have  to  answer  for  herself, 
whether  she  stands  or  falls.  Dorothy  had  plenty 
of  energy,  and  without  stopping  to  dwell  upon  the 
justice  or  injustice  of  her  position,  she  set  to  work 
and  opened  a  school ;  with  what  success  you  may 
judge  when  I  tell  you  that  to-day,  just  five  years 
from  the  opening,  in  looking  over  the  bill  of  sale 
of  her  effects,  she  finds  that  when  all  debts  are 
paid  she  will  be  the  fortunate  possessor  of  a  hun- 
dred pounds,  with  which  to  cross  the  Atlantic  and 
make  a  new  start  in  the  Old  World  ;  not  a  fortune 
by  any  means,  but  more  than  she  had  when  she 
left  her  father's  house.  Who  says  that  woman  is 
not  bold,  desperately  bold  ? 

During  these  five  years  Dorothy  went  but  sel- 
dom into  society.  Though  an  acknowledged 
beauty  she  cared  little  for  social  success ;  was 
rather  what  is  known  as  a  one-idead  woman. 
Whatever  work  she  engaged  in  for  the  time  being, 
she  pursued  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others  ;  then  she 
gave  it  up  and  started  off  on  a  new  tack.     Her 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


43 


thoughts  alternated  between  the  grave  and  serious 
questions  of  the  day — science,  religion,  and  morals 
— and  romantic  speculations  about  love  and  mar- 
riage. One  seldom  meets  with  a  person  more 
susceptible  to  extraneous  influence  than  Dorothy- 
Pembroke ;  she  was  like  a  highly  strung  musical 
instrument  responsive  to  every  touch.  Whether 
it  be  heavenly  symphony  or  discord  must  depend 
upon  the  master  hand  that  plays.  She  liked  work 
when  it  was  brain-work,  and  longed  to  make  money 
to  give  away  ;  but  was  too  quixotic  for  a  business 
woman,  and  it  was  owing  mainly  to  Harry  Alex- 
ander's kindness  and  liberality  that  she  had  got 
on  as  well  as  she  had.  The  latter  she  admired 
exceedingly,  but  marry  him  upon  the  terms  he 
proposed — those  of  esteem  and  respect  for  each 
other's  character — she  could  not  think  of  for  a 
moment.  Was  it  a  relic  of  her  father's  con- 
servatism and  orthodoxy,  or  was  it  religious  fanat- 
icism mingled  with  romance,  inherited  from  her 
mother,  that  made  her  such  a  devout  believer  in 
old-fashioned  love?  Surely  the  love  matches  she 
had  had  anything  to  do  with  had  turned  out  very 
prosaic,  to  say  the  least  ;  but,  like  all  the  children 
of  Eve,  she  would  try  for  herself.  She  thought, 
"  I  am  not  clever,  but  I  am  full  of  great  and 
noble  aspirations.  If  I  may  not  be  great  myself, 
I  might  inspire  others.  "  Her  passionate  nature 
yearned  for  something  more  than  friendship. 


-i 


tj...  ■■■■/X'a.  tji'^mri.-f.i  iu'.y*y-('y»;it*s.'*aa 


mKtlSi.rx^yn:i.XxJ'k-^ti 


,     1 


I         :i 


Wl 


I 


!    il 


44 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


CHAPTER  V. 

One  goes  abroad  for  merchandise  and  trading, 
Another  stays  to  keep  his  country  from  invading, 
A  third  is  coming  home  with  rich  and  wealthy  lading ; 
Hallo,  my  fancy,  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? — Old  Poem. 

A  MONTH  later  Dorothy  was  standing  on  the 
deck  of  a  fast  Atlantic  steamer,  bound  for  Liver- 
pool, watching  with  quivering  lip  and  aching 
heart  the  slowly  receding  shore ;  but  she  was  a 
brave  woman,  and  dashed  away  the  tears  and 
buried  the  past  by  concentrating  her  thoughts 
upon  the  present.  "  What  a  goose  I  am  !  ready 
to  cry  from  sheer  sentiment,  when  I  have  been 
longing  for  years  to  go  to  Europe,  and  now  that 
I  have  cut  the  Gordian  knot  and  have  fairly 
started,  I  am  actually  growing  chicken-hearted. 
I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Dorothy  Pembroke!  How 
many  women  would  give  their  eyes  if  they  stood 
in  your  shoes,  the  wide  world  before  them,  and 
not  even  a  husband  to  say  them  nay.  It  was  good 
of  Harry  to  come  all  that  way  to  bid  me  bon 
voyage  ;  I  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  see  him  on 
the  steamer,  with  Hilda  and  her  old  nurse.  And 
how  well  he  managed  it  too,  asking  me   to  do 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


45 


him  the  favor  of  taking  Peperel  over  as  my  maid  ; 
that  she  was  going  home  to  visit  her  people,  but 
for  me  to  keep  her  until  I  went  to  the  Continent, 
for  she  knew  England  well  and  might  be  of  use 
to  me.  I  must  say,  though,  I  was  a  little  startled 
when  the  others  left,  and  he  didn't  budge.  I  was 
afraid  he  was  going  to  cross  with  us,  and  then  of 
course  I  should  have  ended  by  marrying  him. 
Yes,  I  must  say  it  was  a  relief  when  he  explained 
he  was  going  back  in  the  pilot-boat — dear  old 
fellow  !  he's  a  true  friend  ;  I  know  I'm  not  half 
grateful  enough.  Did  I  thank  him,  I  wonder,  for 
all  those  magazines,  flowers,  and  fruit,  and  this 
comfortable  chair  and  wraps?  I'm  afraid  I  for- 
got it.  Well,  if  he  meant  that  I  should  think  of 
him  during  the  voyage  he  has  certainly  succeeded." 
Her  fellow-passengers  were  the  usual  lot  of 
Canadians  one  meets  with  on  the  Dominion  line ; 
merchants  going  for  goods,  children  returning 
to  school,  and  military  men  with  their  families 
going  home  on  leave.  Fortunately  there  were  an 
unusual  number  of  Americans  on  board  ;  these 
interested  Dorothy  more  than  her  compatriots 
did.  They  were  in  three  distinct  parties.  The 
larger  one,  composed  of  some  eight  or  nine 
cultured,  wide-awake,  up-to-date  men  and  women, 
evidently  upon  pleasure  bent,  were  so  cosmopol- 
itan in  appearance,  that  they  had  been  some  days 
at  sea  before  Dorothy  found  out  they  were  from 


■>;,j  ■;! 


': 


ii 


)) 


46 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


New  York.  Tlicn  there  was  a  charming  New 
England  bride  and  groom  taking  a  honeymoon 
trip  to  the  Old  World.  Lastly,  a  party  of  three, 
a  young  man  and  two  pretty  girls,  evidently  his 
sisters.  Dorothy  saw  at  a  glance  that  they  were 
a  type  of  Americans  she  had  never  met  before ; 
they  amused  her  not  a  little  by  their  utter  disre- 
gard of  etiquette,  utterly  ignoring  the  society 
lines  of  demarcation,  leaping  with  a  bound  the 
walls  and  intrenchments  behind  which  some  of 
the  Americans  and  English  on  board  had  taken 
refuge.  They  had  constituted  themselves  self- 
appointed  masters  of  ceremony ;  this  they 
adroitly  managed  by  making  themselves  indis- 
pensable to  their  fellow-passengers.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  snub  them  ;  they  were  irresistible,  and  their 
resources  inexhaustible  ;  they  had  sweets  for  the 
children,  smelling-salts  or  camphor  for  the  sick, 
wraps  and  rugs  for  the  chilly,  the  latest  novel  or 
last  ship  gossip  for  the  ddsooiivr^:  The  amount  of 
information  they  collected  concerning  their  fel- 
low-passengers was  enormous ;  what  they  did  not 
know  they  presumed  or  calculated  upon.  Most 
of  the  introductions  that  took  place  on  board 
were  through  their  agency. 

As  Dorothy  sat  watching  the  disappearing 
pilot-boat,  like  a  speck  in  the  distance,  the  young- 
est, a  pretty  girl  with  Titian  red  hair,  accosted 
her  with  the  remark ;  • 


■A  ; 


KERCUIEI'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


47 


« 


I  reckon  this  is  the  first  time  you've  crossed 
the  Athintic  Ocean  ?" 

"Indeed!     Why?" 

Without  heeding  Dorothy's  modest  question, 
she  continued :  "  Was  that  elegant  gentleman 
who  went  back  in  the  pilot-boat  your  husband  ?  " 

"Why?"  Dorothy  a  second  time  repeated. 

"  Oh,  for  no  reason  ;  only  we — that  is  Le  Baron 
and  I — had  a  bet  on  it.  I  said  he  was  ;  Le  Baron 
says  he  knows  you're  not  married,  or  at  least 
you're  not  the  mother  of  that  big  girl  with  him  ; 
while  Hannah  Jane  says  you're  quite  old  enough 
to  be,  only  that  individual  was  too  attentive  by 
half  for  a  husband.  We  asked  your  friend  over 
there  who  you  were,  but  couldn't  get  a  word  out 
of  her.    Is  she  deaf,  or  don't  she  know  English?  " 

"  Yes,  Peperel  speaks  English  ;  but  she  is  Welsh, 
and  I  fancy  she  does  not  understand  the  Amer- 
ican language." 

"  La  sakes  !  that's  too  thin  ;  why,  it's  the  same 
as  English.     Now,  you  don't  perceive  any  differ- 
ence in  my  way  of  talking,  do  you  ?  " 
'     "  Oh,  yes,  an  immense  difference." 

"  Do  tell !  I  want  to  know  !  Why,  Hannah  Jane 
and  I  have  been  cultivating  English  for  the  past 
two  years;  we  know  all  the  English  slang.  Han- 
nah Jane  is  an  awful  hand  at  it.  She's  gotten  a 
little  book  in  which  she  writes  down  every  new 
English  word  she  comes  across.    But  wait  till  you 


-.-m^irf  <  'i^M  jm:j.":r".l 


48 


KERCIUEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


I 


converse  with  Lc  Baron — there's  no  mistaking 
him  for  an  EnfrUshmaii  ;  he  talks  to  kill.  He 
;^racluated  at  Harvard  this  year.  I  was  at 
the  commencement,  and  had  an  awful  jolly 
time  ;  he  ought  to  have  done  it  two  years  ago, 
but  he  went  in  so  hard  for  sports,  that  par  says 
all  his  schooling  was  knocked  out  of  him.  He's 
a  perfect  Anglomaniac,  as  all  the  swell  fellows 
at  Harvard  are.  What's  your  intention  going 
abroad?  We've  all  different  objects.  Le  Baron 
wants  to  see  the  world.  I'm  going  in  for  art.  I 
dote  upon  art  and  artists  ;  mar  says  I  have  a  per- 
fect cult  for  them.  Now  Hannah  Jane  is  going 
to  hunt  up  our  genealogy;  you  know  we're  the 
Browns  of  Chicago — the  Le  Baron-Browns. 
Hannah  Jane  has  three  books  about  us  in  her 
trunk  in  our  stateroom.  I  told  her  she  didn't 
want  to  bring  them,  for  she  had  gotten  them  all 
at  the  end  of  her  tongue ;  but  she  thought  she'd 
keep  'em  there  handy  in  case  she  met  any  swell 
people  on  the  steamer  who  would  like  to  see 
them.  If  you  would  like  she  will  lend  them  to  you 
with  pleasure.  I  ain't  English  enough  myself  to 
enjoy  reading  long  lists  of  names ;  Hannah  Jane 
says  it  is  a  cultivated  taste,  unless  you're  born 
blue  blood,  and  I'm  not.  I  agree  with  par,  it 
doesn't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins  if  you  haven't 
money,  and  we've  any  amount  of  that — enough  to 
catch  any  foreign  lord  we  like," 


' 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


49 


"  How  docs  it  happen  your  father  is  a  baron  ? 
I  thought  there  were  no  titles  in  the  United 
States,"  inquired  Dorothy,  as  much  for  something 
to  say  as  out  of  curiosity. 

"  Law !  'taint  a  title  we  have  ;  we  weren't  always 
Le  Baron-Brown,  but  when  par  made  his  pile, 
mar  said  we  must  have  an  aristocratic  handle  to 
our  name.  You  know  it's  all  the  fashion  in 
America  now  ;  all  the  Smiths  are  River-Smiths, 
Oak-Smiths,  and  Montgomery-Smiths.  Marsays 
during  the  war  all  the  swell  women  were  Mrs. 
Generals  and  Mrs.  Colonels.  I  know  in  New 
York  a  Mrs.  Street-Commissioner  Jones,  and  a 
Mrs.  President  Brown,  and  a  Mrs.  Rev.  Canon 
Briggs.  But  Hannah  Jane  says  this  is  not  good 
form  in  England.  It  was  she  that  thought  of  Le 
Baron.  Don't  you  think  it  a  perfectly  scrump- 
tious name  ?  Par  won't  adopt  it ;  he  says  John 
Brown  is  good  enough  for  him  ;  but  mar  has  it 
on  her  cards,  and  so  have  we.  Hannah  Jane  is 
Miss  Le  Baron-Brown,  and  I'm  Miss  Sally  Le 
Baron-Brown.  Hannah  Jane  is  going  to  change 
her  first  name  when  she  gets  to  England ;  she  has 
changed  it  so  often  now  that  I  never  can  remem- 
ber what  she  has  decided  upon.  Last  year  she 
was  Dagmar.  Before  we  left  home  it  was  Gwen- 
doline, as  more  English,  you  know,  till  some  one 
told  her  that  it  had  gone  quite  out  of  fashion  on 
the  other  side,  so  she  decided  to  wait  and  ask 


\~UIIM 


I 


i 

i 


vM 


11 


SO 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


them  at  the  herald's  office,  when  she  buys  our 
coat-of-arms." 

"  And  you  call  her  by  the  old  name,  Hannah 
Jane,  pending  the  decision?"  Dorothy,  not  a  little 
amused,  inquired. 

"  Yes,  it  seems  more  natural-like.  She  wants 
me  to  change  mine,  too,  but  I'm  like  par,  I'm  con- 
servative. I've  got  heaps  o'  friends  who  wouldn't 
know  Sally  Brown  by  any  other  name.  Holloa! 
there's  my  brother  ;  I  expect  he  wants  me.  Le 
Baron,  come  over  here  and  let  me  introduce  you 
to — I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  remember  what  you 
told  me  your  name  was  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  told  you,"  Dorothy  said 
quietly,  with  an  amused  smile. 

"  Now  I  want  to  know,"  Sally  exclaimed. 
"  Well,  what  is  it?  Introduce  yourself!  I  guess 
I'd  better  be  going." 

Dorothy  hesitated  some  seccxJo,  the  whole 
thing  was  so  strange  to  her.  Sally  Brown,  as- 
tonished, inquired, 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  You  ain't  ashamed  of 
your  name,  are  you  ?  It  don't  take  me  that  long 
to  tell  mine." 

"  I'm  called — that  is,  my  name  is — Miss  Pem- 
broke." 

"  Miss  ;  there  !  I  knew  you  weren't  married. 
But  I  must  go  right  away  and  help  Hannah  Jane 
fix  up  the  stateroom  or  she'll  be  tearing  mad,  so 


\ 


\ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


5» 


/ 


I 


t 


I'll  leave  you,  Miss  Pembroke,  to  make  friends 
with  my  brother." 

The  young  man  drew  a  camp-chair  to  her  side, 
saying,  as  he  seated  himself,  "  You're  well  pro- 
vided with  literature,  I  see.  Let  me  cut  the  leaves 
of  this  magazine  for  you  ?  it's  a  great  bore  to 
have  to  do  it  one's  self." 

"  Do  you  find  it  so  ?  I,  on  the  contrary,  enjoy 
it ;  you  are  sure  then  to  have  the  first  reading  ;  but 
then,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  "  it  gives  a  young 
man  an  opportunity  of  making  himself  useful." 

'*  Yes,  indeed,"  he  replied  ;  "  that's  an  idea  ; 
besides,  it's  the  fashion — rather  a  slow  one  for  we 
go-ahead  ArriCricans,  but  it's  English,  you  know." 
After  a  pause  he  asked,  "  Ever  been  across  the 
big  pond  before  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  do  not  understand." 

"Oh,  I  guess  you  call  it  the  Atlantic  Ocean; 
we  out  West  often  speak  of  it  in  that  way.  I 
am  from  Chicago,  you  know.  Ever  been  there  ? 
You're  not  American,  I  bet ;  but  we'll  get  on 
first-rate  together,  for  all  that.  I'm  awfully  fond 
of  everything  English,  especially  pretty  girls. 
They  call  me  the  Anglomaniac  at  home,  and  I 
try  to  live  up  to  the  name,  I  can  tell  you.  I'm  a 
pretty  considerable  talker,  as  you'll  find  out  be- 
fore our  voyage  is  over.  You  are  a  bit  sad  at 
leaving  that  fellow  who  came  off  with  us,  but  I'll 
cheer  you  up." 


■■■'  Jij 
■yvs 


■  ¥^ 


<~N 


I 


I! 


i 


52 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


And  so  he  ran  on  for  full  half  an  hour  ;  no 
knowing  when  he  would  have  stopped — it  never 
occurring  to  him  that  strangers  might  not  be  so 
much  interested  in  his  private  life  and  surround- 
ings as  he  himself  was — had  not  Sally  called  out 
that  they  were  all  tuckered  out  and  wanted  him 
to  come  and  help  fix  the  things.  He  was  a  pretty 
boy,  blond  like  his  sisters,  apparently  of  German 
extraction.  All  three  were  great  talkers,  but  with 
this  difference,  the  women  were  more  self-assert- 
ing, more  intense  ;  the  kind  of  people  who  ex- 
press their  opinions  unasked  for,  with  an  air  of 
superior  wisdom  and  authority  that  is  most  ex- 
asperating, making  you  wish  that  you  might  never 
see  the  like  again.  The  young  man  was  rather 
refreshing  from  his  naivete  ;  he  talked  because  he 
had  to,  from  the  fulness  of  his  heart. 

Dorothy  and  he  passed  many  a  pleasant  hour 
together  ;  in  fact  they  would  have  become  good 
friends  but  for  his  sisters, who  acted  as  if  they  feared 
she  might  run  off  with  him.  At  first  Dorothy 
thought  of  seriously  alarming  them  with  a  flirtation, 
but  decided,  upon  second  thoughts,  that  Le  Baron 
was  too  good  to  make  a  plaything  of  to  spite  his 
sisters,  and  she  snubbed  him  oftener  than  she 
otherwise  would  have  done. 

Dorothy  herself  was  an  object  of  daily  curi- 
osity to  her  idle  fellow-passengers,  whom  her 
proud    reserve     unintentionally    kept    at    a   dis- 


/ 


( 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


II 


tance.  She  was  beautiful,  all  agreed,  though 
always  with  a  but  reservation  in  assenting.  Her 
figure  was  good,  but  she  was  too  short,  or  it  was 
owing  to  that  perfectly  fitting  tailor  suit  that  she 
wore.  Then  some  said  her  features  were  too  per- 
fect ;  monotonous  in  fact ;  her  teeth  so  even  they 
must  be  artificial ;  her  dark-brown  hair  too  heavy 
for  her  oval  face ;  that  was  why  she  held  her  head 
so  high.  "  It  must  be  uncomfortable  to  be 
dragged  back  in  that  way,  like  a  horse  with  a 
check-rein,"  one  woman  remarked.  Her  eyes  of 
course  did  not  escape  comment  ;  the  men  for  the 
most  part  found  them  beautiful,  and  raved  over 
her  little  baby  stare.  The  women  found  this 
stare  bold,  and  thought  her  very  affected  when  she 
kept  her  eyes  veiled  under  her  long  black  lashes. 
On  the  whole  Dorothy  enjoyed  the  voyage,  it 
was  all  so  new  and  strange  to  her,  who  had  passed 
her  life  until  now  in  a  little  provincial  town.  But 
all  things  come  to  an  end,  and  one  fine  day  in  June 
they  sailed  up  the  Mersey  to  the  Liverpool  docks, 
where  Dorothy  and  her  fellow-passengers  parted 
— for  no  one  knew  where  ;  at  least  they  were  very 
much  surprised  when  any  of  them  chanced  to 
meet  again. 


II 


I 


K 


/ 


^3 ; 

i 

■■i 

J 

54 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"Elle  est  fraiwnti  et  jolie.     Ses  regards  sont  pleins  de  feu  1 
Ses  paroles  charmantes  1     Elle  est  una  prison 
Oil  j'ai  enferm^  mon  coeur." — Breton  Song. 

How  strange  it  seemed  to  Dorothy  as  she 
stepped  from  a  second-class  carriage  on  to  the 
platform  of  the^'^^r^'  St.  Lazare  to  find  herself  in 
Paris.  She  had  to  pinch  herself  from  time  to 
time  to  realize  it,  to  make  sure  she  was  awake, 
not  dreaming.  She  had  remained  but  a  week  in 
London,  and  then  hastened  on  to  Paris ;  for,  as 
we  know,  her  resources  were  limited,  and  she 
wanted  to  be  at  work  and  at  the  same  time  im- 
proving her  French.  She  had  the  address  of  an 
English  boarding-house,  and  drove  directly  there  ; 
it  was  filled  with  Russian  princesses,  swell  English, 
German  counts,  and  such  like.  Dorothy  took  a 
room  for  a  week,  telling  the  landlady  she  wanted 
to  get  into  a  French  family  in  order  to  acquire  the 
language.  How  cool  and  charming  the  room 
assigned  to  her  was,  with  its  polished  floo  nd 
mirrors,  and  delicate  pink-and-white  cretonne 
hangings  upon  wall,  windows,  and  bed  !  it  suited 
so  perfectly  her  aesthetic  tastes.     Oh,  why  could 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS 


55 


h 


she  not  stay  there  ?     Why  must  her  inclinations 
and  her  purse  be  always  at  war? 

The  next  morning,  after  the  luxury  of  a  roll 
and  a  cup  of  delicious  French  coffee  in  bed, 
Dorothy  dressed  for  an  exploring  expedition — 
toe  '  lupid  to  venture  upon  taking  a  tram  or  bus. 
A  fiacre  on  every  occasion  was  beyond  her 
means  ;  she  must  walk,  and  trust  to  her  bump  of 
locality  to  find  her  way  back.  The  day  was  clear 
and  bright,  and  everything  was  so  fresh  and  beau- 
tiful about  her  that  she  felt  impelled  to  dress  in 
unison  with  her  surroundings,  so  she  donned  an 
exquisite  visiting  costume — her  one  extravagance 
while  in  London — a  lovely,  tender,  apple-green 
cashmere  and  silk  frock,  black-lace  hat  with  cream 
roses,  black  parixsol  with  deep  chiffon  flounce,  long, 
black  undressed  suede  gloves,  and  black  ostrich 
boa.  Stopping  in  the  drawing-room  on  her  way 
out  to  ask  the  time  of  lunch.  Miss  Grocer,  her 
landlady,  expressed  not  a  little  surprise  that  she 
was  going  to  walk  and  shop  in  that  costume. 

"  My  dear,  you're  much  too  beautiful  to  go  out 
alone !  "  her  face  showing  unbounded  admiration 
as  she  spoke. 

*'  Oh,  never  fear ;  I  can  take  care  of  myself." 
"Alas!  but  you  do  not  know  Frenchmen." 
"  Neither  do  they  know  me,"  Dorothy  answered 
merrily. 

"  If  you  will  wait  till  after  lunch  I  will  go  with 
you  myself ;  or  will  you  not  take  a  maid  ?  " 


I 


I 


/ 


ill 

'IJ 


56 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


"  Not  for  the  world,"  Dorothy  gayly  replied ; 
and  off  she  started  in  high  spirits,  partly  owing 
to  the  ozone  of  Paris,  and  partly  to  a  don't-care 
feeling  she  had. 

Miss  Grocer's  house  was  only  a  few  steps  from 
Pont  d'Alma,  so  Dorothy  went  directly  to  the 
river,  knowing  'f  she  kept  that  in  view  she  must 
eventually  find  her  way  back.  On,  on,  she 
wandered,  taking  no  heed  of  time,  making  various 
digressions  to  the  right  and  left,  to  get  a  nearer 
view  of  some  building  that  she  recognized  from 
photographs  she  had  seen  in  bygone  days.  She 
was  standing  lost  in  wonder  in  front  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Paris,  when  she  became  aware  that  two 
men  she  had  met  quite  an  hour  previously,  were 
standing  staring  at  her ;  she  instantly  turned,  and 
walked  quickly  to  the  bridge  leading  to  the  right 
bank  of  the  Seine.  She  felt  them  behind  her  ;  she 
knew  they  were  following  her.  She  quickened 
her  pace  ;  so  did  they.  She  almost  flew,  but  it 
was  of  no  avail ;  just  before  she  reached  Pont 
Henri  Quatre  they  overtook  her,  one,  a  tall, 
distinguished,  military-looking  man  of  thirty  or 
thereabouts,  coming  upon  the  right ;  the  younger, 
slighter  and  dudish,  joining  her  on  left.  She  was 
not  frightened ;  it  was  broad  daylight ;  but  it  was 
awkward,  to  say  the  least.  What  would  happen 
next  ? 

"  Voilh  !  "  the   man  on  the  right  said,  looking 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


57 


Vk! 


across    her,   to    the  man    on    left,   "  comme    elle 
est  jo  lie  !  " 

Then  the  man  on  the  left  answered  the  man 
on  the  right,  "  Oui,  die  est  crdnevient  Jolie,  elle 
est  trh  gentilley 

Upon  which  the  man  on  the  right,  looking 
her  impudently  in  the  face,  said :  "  Man  Dieii  I 
elle  est  super  he  !  " 

Though  this  exclamatory  dialogue  was  kept  up 
for  several  moments,  the  first  two  sentences  were 
all  that  Dorothy's  ear,  unaccustomed  to  colloquial 
French,  could  grasp.  But  they  were  enough. 
Drawing  herself  up  and  stepping  back  a  little  so 
as  to  face  her  tormentors,  she  favored  them  with 
one  of  her  curious,  innocent  glances,  and  said 
with  dignity, 

"  Messieurs,  je suis  Anglaise.'' 

The  effect  either  of  the  look  or  of  the  word 
** Anglaise*'  was  magical.  The  two  men  raised 
their  hats,  murmured  "  Pardon,  mademoiselle,''' 
and  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

After  their  departure  Dorothy  hastened  back 
to  the  pension  ;  her  victory  was  so  complete  and 
the  reaction  so  great,  that  she  would  have  given 
worlds  for  a  good  laugh,  or  even  a  good  cry.  Two 
things,  though,  she  made  up  her  mind  about :  first, 
that  it  would  never  do  to  go  out  alone  in  Paris 
dressed  fashionably  ;  and  second,  that  not  a  word 
of  this  would  she  breathe  to  her  fellow-boarders. 


I 


I 


\l  ' 


58 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

" Alas   for   my    sheep   which    have   no   shepherd! 

wandering  in  the  night  with  none  to  guide  them  ;  bleating  blindly 
toward  the  knife  of  Death." — Edwin  Arnold. 

The  next  time  Dorothy  went  out  alone  she  wore 
her  tailor-made  travelling  dress  and  felt  hat,  and 
although  it  was  impossible  to  hide  her  beauty,  it 
was  not  of  the  showy  kind  ;  and  much  to  her 
relief  she  passed  on  unnoticed  in  the  crowd. 
Though  Dorothy  had  come  abroad  without  a 
single  letter  of  introduction  she  had  provided  her- 
self with  a  few  addresses  which  she  thought  might 
be  useful  to  her;  one  was  that  of  a  lady  con- 
nected with  the  McCall  mission.  This  morning 
she  called  upon  her  to  ask  if  she  knew  of  a  French 
pension  where  she  could  board  cheaply  and  im- 
prove herself  in  French  until  she  found  an  engage- 
ment. Not  knowing  of  any  suitable  place  Miss 
Jackson  told  her  she  would  accompany  her  to 

Miss  P *s  Governess*  Home,  where  she  would 

probably  get  all  the  information  desired.  A  few 
minutes 'walk  brought  them  to  the  house,  a  large 
six-story  corner  building  of  gray  stone,  similar  in 


I 


!MM!S 


I' 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


59 


I 


architecture  to  the  houses  in  the  neighborhood, 
only  a  little  shabbier  in  appearance.  Dorothy 
was  amazed  to  see  the  vestibule  frescoed  with 
colored  texts  of  Scripture. 

**  What  are  these  for?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  the  foundress  is  a  very  religious  woman, 
and  wishes  everyone  to  know  the  house  was  given 
her  in  answer  to  prayer ;  you  see  over  the  door 
are  the  words,  'Asked  of  God  in  l8 — ,'  and  be- 
neath, 'Given  in  i8 — '." 

"  Yes,  but  why  proclaim  it  thus?  I  thought 
every  good  gift  came  from  the  Lord,"  Dorothy 
questioned. 

"  True,  but  these  poor  French  people  don't  know 
that.  They  never  read  the  Bible ;  their  priests 
would  excommunicate  them  if  they  did.  They 
will  see  and  read  these  texts,  and  perhaps  the  Word 
may  sink  into  their  hearts,  grow,  and  bear  fruit." 

"  But  the  texts  are  English  ;  the  poor  French 
cannot  read  them." 

This  was  a  poser  for  Miss  Jackson,  but  she  rose 
to  the  occasion.  After  considering  a  moment  she 
said  :  "  Mair  cultivated,  educated  French  people 
come  here  in  search  of  governesses — they  can  read 
them." 

"  Rather  a  case  of  casting  pearls  before  swine," 
Dorothy  suggested. 

"  At  all  events  the  young  Englishwomen  who 
come  here,  and  for  whom  the  house  was  given, 


I 


I 


i 

:•]  I 


60 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


can  read  them  and  find  comfort,  and  I  assure  you 
many  are  in  need  of  that." 

••  I  shall  not  argue  the  point,  Miss  Jackson  ;  if 
it  is  a  consolation  for  you  or  them  to  stand  pray- 
ing or  reading  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  to  be 
seen  of  men — tastes  differ.  I  did  not  leave  my 
Bible  at  home  when  I  came  to  France,  so  shall 
seek  the  solitude  of  my  own  closet  when  I  need 
consolation." 

Perhaps  this  was  hardly  the  kind  of  thanks 
Miss  Jackson  expected  from  Dorothy,  or  she 
found  her  far  too  strong-minded  a  young  woman 
to  convert  to  her  way  of  thinking.  Whatever 
it  was,  she  bade  her  a  hasty  good-day,  telling 
her  she  would  have  no  trouble  in  finding  her 
way  home  if  she  always  kept  the  Arc  de  Tri- 
omphe   in  view. 

After  this  rubbing  the  wrong  way,  so  to 
speak,  everything  was  not  coulair  de  rose  to 
Dorothy  that  morning,  and  consequently  when 
the  door  was  opened  the  entry  appeared  very  dark, 
and  she  thought  the  stairs,  scrubbed  English  fash- 
ion, not  polished  in  the  French,  which  the  con- 
cierge directed  her  to  take  to  the  office  on  the 
third  floor,  very  uninviting.  The  little  waiting- 
room  into  which  she  was  shown  was  desolation  it- 
self :  three  cane  chairs,  a  wardrobe,  a  couch  covered 
with  an  ugly  woollen  stuff ;  on  the  wall  a  large, 
round  clock  that  did  not  go,  and  some  illuminated 


V 


li 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


6i 


X 


texts ;  a  small  marble  mantel  had  also  texts  and 
a  lot  of  odds  and  ends  upon  it ;  on  a  centre- 
table  were  old  semi-religious  magazines  and  tracts, 
a  great  bundle  of  which  were  also  piled  up  in  one 
of  the  corners,  evidently  awaiting  a  donation  in 
the  shape  of  a  bookcase.  , 

Dorothy  had  abundant  opportunity  to  take 
this  all  in,  as  she  had  a  long  time  to  wait  be- 
fore she  was  summoned  to  the  office,  a  compara- 
tively pretty  room  with  Turkey  rug  on  the  floor, 
comfortable  chairs,  bookshelves,  an  office  desk, 
etc.  A  lady  sitting  behind  the  desk  looked  at 
her  inquiringly  as  she  entered,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Miss  P ,  I  suppose?  "  Dorothy  inquired. 

•*  No,  Miss  P is  not  here." 

"  When  may  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  in  England  just  now,  soliciting  subscrip- 
tions for  her  Home.  I'm  Miss  Starr,  in  charge 
here  ;  can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

"  Thanks.  I  called  for  some  addresses  of  good, 
inexpensive  pensions.  I  have  also  been  told  peo- 
ple apply  here  for  English  governesses.  I  should 
very  much  like  a  position.  Have  you  one  that  I 
could  fill?" 

As  she  said  this,  Dorothy  saw  distinctly  a 
difference  in  the  manner  of  the  lady  superintend- 
ent ;  it  had  been  inquisitively  cold  before,  now 
it  became  freezingly  businesslike. 

"  What  do  you  teach  ?  " 


■fei 


I 

f 


1 


/ 


62 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


"  English." 

"  Nothing  else  ?  "  her  rising  inflection  showing 
surprise. 

••Nothing," 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  difficulty  in  getting 
placed.  A  governess  is  expected  nowadays  to  be 
able  to  teach  music,  piano,  and  violin,  if  not  sing- 
ing, Latin,  German,  French,  drawing — in  fact, 
everything  a  young  lady  should  know." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  nowhere,"  Dorothy  sighed. 

"You  can  put  your  name  on  our  books  if  you 
wish ;  we  may  hear  of  a  summer  engagement  as 
companion  that  you  could  fill,  for  you  are  very 
ladylike  in  appearance." 

Had  Dorothy  been  a  man  she  would  have 
answered  :  "  Damn  your  impudence  !  "  As  she 
was  a  woman  she  contented  herself  by  looking 
her  surprise  and  saying  : 

"Thanks;  ladies  seem  rare  here,  so  perhaps  I 
shall  not  be  a  drug  in  the  market.  And  now  will 
you  kindly  give  me  a  list  of  pensions  where  I 
can  board  and  get  my  French  up  while  awaiting 
an  engagement  ?  " 

"  We  might  take  you  in  here." 

"  Thanks  ;  but  I  should  prefer  going  to  a  ladies* 
boarding-house." 

The  superintendent  looked  at  her  inquiringly, 
as  if  to  ask  if  she  had  any  covert  meaning  in  that 
remark ;  but  Dorothy's  face  was  thoroughly  non- 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


63 


committal,  and  Miss  Starr,  thinking  it  better  not 
to  notice  the  snub,  answered  that  though  they 
did  take  in  servants  looking  for  places,  they  had 
governesses  as  well. 

This  was  even  worse  than  Dorothy  had  imagined, 
so  she  hastily  bade  good-morning,  after  leaving 
her  present  address  and  a  few  cents  for  postal- 
cards,  in  case  anyone  should  happen  to  want  "  a 
young  person  without  accomplishments,  but  who 
looked  ladylike,"  As  she  descended  the  stairs  she 
made  up  her  mind  that  it  would  be  only  a  dernier 
ressort  that  would  force  her  to  seek  an  asylum  in 
that  house. 

Once  again  in  the  street  she  consulted  her 
note-book,  taking  the  addresses  as  they  came. 
It  was  weary  work  ;  had  she  known  the  town  bet- 
ter she  could  have  done  it  in  half  the  time.  She 
was  continually  doubling  upon  her  steps,  often, 
after  an  hour's  search  in  one  direction,  finding  that 
the  next  address  was  just  where  she  had  started 
from.  Then,  too,  most  of  ih.e  petites pensions  are 
ati  cinqicibme  or  au  sixtlnie  ^tage,  and  nothing  is 
more  fatiguing  to  strangers  than  this  everlasting 
climbing  heavenward.  The  only  lifts  in  Paris  are 
in  the  new  buildings,  where  the  English  or  Amer- 
icans live.  Finally,  as  she  was  toiling  up  to  a  sixth 
floor,  stopping  to  take  breath  on  a  landing,  her 
eye  was  attracted  by  a  visiting  card,  tacked  at 
the  four  corners,  as  is  the  custom  with  dressmakers 


M-11W 


■W^iP-wiilLiMIJl  Ri  I 


h 


I 


iili 


64 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


and   others  of  the  working  class  in   Paris, 
card  bore  the  inscription  : 


This 


Madame  Rhor. 
Pension  de  Famille. 


As  this  was  only  mi  quairicmc,  she  rang,  think- 
ing she  would  at  least  see  what  Madame  Rohr 
was  like  ;  and  when  a  pretty  little  woman  pre- 
sented herself,  who  told  her  that  her  husband  was 
employed  at  the  Louvre,  she  immediately  decided 
to  look  no  further.  In  fact,  she  had  become  so 
suspicious  of  all  French  manages,  from  what  she 
had  heard  of  them  at  Miss  Grocer's,  that  it  seemed 
to  augur  wonderful  things  for  this  pension  that 
there  was  a  master  living,  and  the  landlady  not  a 
widow,  as  two-thirds  of  the  others  had  called 
themselves.  Then  the  little  woman  chattered  like 
a  magpie,  from  whici.  Dorothy  argued  she  should 
learn  French  very  quickly.  Madame  Rohr  said 
she  had  been  in  England,  and  knew  just  how 
English  people  lived  and  what  they  wanted. 
Dorothy  remarked  that  Rohr  was  a  German 
name. 

"Yes,"  she  rejoined,    "but  that    is    nothing; 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


6S 


my  husband  was  from  Lorraine ;  many  proper 
names  there  and  in  Alsace  are  German." 

Finally  board  and  a  pretty  little  room  were 
secured  by  paying  a  week  in  advance  as  denier  a 
Dieu. 

It  was  with  a  rather  faint  heart,  I  must  confess, 
that  Dorothy  descended  to  the  rez  de  ehaiissde. 
Now  that  all  was  settled  she  knew  how  sorry  she 
was  to  quit  the  luxurious  quarters  in  which  she  was 
then  installed  for  a  little  French  pension.  Why 
was  she  not  rich  ?  She  felt  so  lonely  at  the 
thought  that  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  she 
bravely  winked  them  back,  and  held  a  mental 
dialogue  with  herself,  as  people  who  are  much 
alone  are  in  the  habit  of  doing.  Why  should  she 
be  low-spirited  ?  Was  she  not  in  Paris,  the  para- 
dise of  Americans  ?  Whatever  happened,  it  was 
all  in  the  way  of  adventure,  and  she  would  have 
no  end  of  things  to  tell  when  she  returned. 

As  she  was  then  crossing  Pare  Monceau,  and 
comparatively  alone,  she  began  to  whistle  softly 
to  keep  up  her  courage,  *'  My  Wife's  Dead  and  I'll 
Get  Another  One."  What  was  her  horror  to 
hear,  as  it  were,  an  echo  behind  her  !  But  this  time 
it  was  a  false  alarm ;  it  was  only  the  pretty  boy 
whom  they  had  dubbed  Anglomaniac  on  shij)- 
board  that  had  caught  her  whistling. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brown  !  "  she  exclaimed,"  I  am  awfully 
glad  to  see  you." 


-I 


66 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


i\ 


"  Well,  now,  this  is  a  bit  of  luck,  Miss  Pembroke. 
But  who  would  have  imagined  you  going  about 
Europe  Blondel-like,  singing  and  whistling  ?  But 
come,  tell  us  now,  who's  your  Cceur  dc  Lion  ?  Oh, 
that's  a  secret !  What  will  you  bet  I  don't  find 
out  some  day?  But  weren't  you  real  mean, 
though,  to  give  me  the  slip  when  I  was  looking 
after  the  baggage  at  Liverpool  ?  I  was  down- 
right mad  with  you.  I  told  my  sisters  this  very 
day  that  I'd  find  you  if  you  were  in  Paris,  and 
here  you  are  right  off." 

"  And  what  did  your  sisters  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  a  secret,  which  I  shall  keep  till  you 
tell  me  where  you  are  living." 

"  Agreed;  you  tell  me  what  they  said,  and  I'll 
give  you  my  address  ;  is  that  a  bargain  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  it  wasn't  complimentary,  though." 

"  No  matter  ;  what  was  it?  " 

**  Well,  here  goes ;  they  said  they  guessed  you 
were  putting  up  at  some  cheap  boarding-house  in 
some  part  of  the  city  you  were  ashamed  of,  or 
you  would  not  have  been  so  close  about  it." 

"  Your  sisters  have  more  discernment  than  I 
gave  them  credit  for.  And  did  you  agree  with 
them?" 

"  I  didn't  agree  or  disagree.  I  told  them  that 
it  didn't  matter  where  you  went ;  if  it  were  good 
enough  for  you,  it  was  good  enough  for  me." 

"  Brave  boy  !  I  am  going  to  put  your  courage  to 


/ 


■^^.■Hf  W^T^WWSoflL  .L.a*  « 


/ 


1 


II 


! 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


67 


the  test.  It  is  almost  dinner  time  ;  will  you  forego 
the  delicacies  awaiting  you  at  your  hotel,  and 
take  a  crust  with  me  in  my  humble  pension  ?  " 

"  Lead  the  way,   Beatrice,  and  I    will    follow 
even  if  it  be  to  the  nether  circle." 

A  walk  of  some  ten  minutes  brought  them  to 
the  beautiful  house.  Avenue  Trocadero,  that 
Dorothy  was  temporarily  occupying. 

"  Here  we  are,"  she  said,  turning  into  the 
courtyard.  "  I  hope  this  may  not  prove  to  you 
the  gates  of  Inferno." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  this  ain't  your  boarding-house?  It's 
a  powerful  sight  prettier  than  where  we  are." 

"  Truly  ?  then  you  are  not  ashamed  to  be  seen 
coming  in  here?  " 

"  Great  Scott !  Miss  Pembroke,  why  do  you 
take  a  fellow  down  so  ?  You  know  I'd  rather  be 
with  you  in  a  hovel   than" 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  interrupted  by 
Dorothy  throwing  open  the  door  of  the  little  re 
ception-room,  and  asking  him  to  wait  there  a  few 
moments,  while  she  took  off  her  hat  and  informed 
the  landlady  that  she  had  brought  a  friend  in  to 
dinner. 

If  Le  Baron  was  impressed  by  the  size  and  char- 
acter of  the  house  at  which  Dorothy  was  stopping, 
the,quiet  elegance  of  the  dinner  capped  the  climax. 
He  unreservedly  expressed  his  admiration,  like 
the  genuine  boy  he  was,  quite  forgetting  that   he 


68 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


was  posing  for  a  nil-admirari  Englishman  abroad. 
This  little  burst  of  enthusiasm  on  his  part  was 
very  refreshing  after  the  cold  reception  Dorothy 
had  experienced  that  morning.  It  went  straight 
to  her  heart,  and  she  allowed  him  to  call  her 
"Miss  Dorothy"  unrebuked,  and  was  even  in- 
duced to  promise  she  would  go  with  him  and  his 
sisters  to  Versailles  on  the  morrow,  if  he  would 
dispense  with  the  courier,  and  let  her  act  as  guide. 
Accordingly  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  go 
by  rail  from  the  gare  Mont  Parnasse. 


1,1 


k?i 


:  ii 


««^l^^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


69 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


k^t 


"  He'll  win  you  with  a  laughing  lure, 

Deep  in  your  heart  he'll  make  his  home  ; 

All  other  loves  you'll  then  abjure. 

He'll  haunt  your  house  from  base  to  dome 

And  sap  your  soul,  this  gay  flaneur; 
Make  life  a  jest  as  light  as  foam." — Vesprit  Moqueur. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  Misses  Le  Baron- 
Brown  and  their  brother  called  for  Dorothy  in  a 
cab.  A  ten  minutes'  drive  brought  them  to  the 
station  in  ample  time  to  secure  four  places  in  the 
imperial  of  a  second-class  carriage,  where,  the 
seats  being  arranged  on  the  American  plan,  it  is 
often  difficult  to  find  accommodation  for  a  party 
all  together.  In  the  excitement  of  getting  off, 
Dorothy  paid  little  attention  to  the  other  occu- 
pants, taking  it  for  granted  that  they  were  stran- 
gers. The  day  was  perfect,  and  the  glimpses 
caught  of  the  country  through  which  they  were 
rushing  most  tantalizingly  lovely.  They  were 
all  in  high  spirits,  "  bound  to  have  a  good  time," 
as  Sally  expressed  it.  Though  Dorothy  had 
studied  her  Baedeker  religiously  the  evening  be- 
fore, she  was  not  at  all  certain  how  many  stations 


I  \m 


f 


I 


fo 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


they  ought  to  pass  before  coming  to  Versailles. 
Upon  telling  her  compa»iions  in  English  that  she 
would  ask  the  guide  the  next  time  they  stopped, 
she  was  not  a  little  surprised  when  a  gentleman 
behind  her  said : 

"  Nc  vous  ddrangcz pas,  inadeinoiscUc.  I  am  going 
to  Versailles,  and  will  tell  you  when  we  get  there." 

Upon  turning  to  express  her  thanks,  she 
found  herself  confronted  by  the  handsome, 
laughing  face  of  the  elder  of  the  two  men  who 
had  spoken  to  her  the  other  morning,  the  one 
she  designated  to  herself  as  *'/r  gai  inoqueur." 
Though  a  good  deal  confused  at  the  unexpected 
encounter,  Dorothy  preserved  enough  self-control 
to  thank  him  and  explain  to  her  companions  that 
she  was  embarrassed  at  being  addressed  by  a 
stranger,  and  in  a  strange  language,  at  the  same 
time  telling  them  what  he  said. 

Arriving  at  Versailles  the  gai  moquetir  was  as 
good  as  his  word,  in  fact  a  good  bit  gooder,  for 
he  not  only  told  them  they  were  at  their  destina- 
tion, but  handed  the  ladles  down,  then  coolly 
walked  along  by  their  side,quite  taking  them  under 
his  protection,  much  to  the  **  Misses  Le  Baron- 
Brown's  "  delight  and  to  their  brother's  disgust. 
As  he  spoke  in  French  they  did  not  understand 
a  word  he  said:  neither  did  they  see  that  his  con- 
versation was  all  directed  to  Dorothy,  for  the  latter 
kept  close  beside  them,  and  showed  not  the  slight- 


I  i 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


7» 


m 


est  sign  of  taking  their  escort's  remarks  to  herself ; 
in  fact  she  was  too  occupied  with  plans  to  extricate 
them  all  from  the  situation  to  think  of  suitable 
French  in  which  to  reply  to  him.  All  at  once  her 
eye  lit  upon  a  fiacre  passing  at  a  foot-pace,  and  she 
nodded.  Cabby,  on  the  lookout  for  passengers, 
drew  up  with  a  "  Via,  madauicr  and  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  tell,  they  were  all  in  the  cab,  minus 
Monsieur  le  Fran^ais,  who,  not  at  all  disconcerted, 
said  ''An  rcimr,'  with  a  significant  glance  at  Dor- 
othy, raised  his  hat  with  exaggerated  politeness, 
held  it  in  his  hand  as  they  drove  away,  then  strolled 
off  in  an  opposite  direction,  humming  the  refrain 
of  "  Le  Fiacre,"  Yvette  Guilbert's  song  that  all 
Paris  was  singing  then  : 


"  Un  fiacre  allait  trottinant, 
Cahin,  calial 
Hu  dia  !  Hop  la  I 
Un  fiacre  allait  trottinant, 
Jaune  avec  un  cocher  blanc." 


"Well,  I  never!  You're  just  too  mean  to  live 
to  pack  us  into  this  hack  like  a  bundle  of  dry- 
goods,  while  that  elegant  Frenchman  was  in  the 
midst  of  talking,"  said  Miss  Brown.  "  Law  !  he's 
a  downright  masher." 

"  Anyhow,  you  might  have  given  us  time  to  have 
thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  even  if  you 
wouldn't  introduce  us,"    Sally   chimed  in   with. 


tm^^t^r  'i-amtHmtlM 


^ 


i 

I      i 

I     ! 


I 


I      !l 


72 


KEKCh .  ElS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


"  I  low  could  I  introduce  you  when  I  didn't 
know  him  myself?  "  laughed  Dorothy. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  he  would  have  introduced  him- 
self if  you'd  have  given  him  a  chance;  he  was 
awfully  smitten  with  us,  I  know  by  the  way  he 
looked." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Brorvn,  I  did  what  I  thought 
hest.  It  is  not  customary  in  England  and  France, 

hatever  it  may  be  in  America,  for  ladies  to  ac- 
cept the  escort  of  men  who  have  not  been  proper- 
ly introduced." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  you  are  mighty  particular 
about  us,  though  I  declare  you  weren't  so 
squeamish  yourself  when  you  took  up  with  Le 
Baron;  was  she,  Sally?" 

Le  Baron,  who  was  on  the  box  with  the  driver, 
turned  at  the  sound  of  his  name,  and  divining 
from  the  high  tones  of  his  sisters'  voices  that 
something  was  wrong,  called  out:  "What's  the 
row  ?  Who's  taking  my  name  in  vain  ?  As  for 
that  Frenchman,  hang  him  !  I  would  very  soon 
have  sent  him  about  his  business  if  Miss  Pem- 
broke had  not." 

This  effectually  silenced  the  insurgents,  who 
were  not  long  in  regaining  their  habitual  good 
humor.  The  rest  of  the  day  passed  happily 
without  incident,  and  had  it  not  been  for  fear  of 
her  dc^/e  noir  unexpectedly  turning  up,  Dorothy 
would    have  enjoyed    it    immensely.       As   they 


! 


<  1 


N  .■ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


73 


strolled  from  room  to  room  of  that  vast  palace,  it 
was  impossible  to  give  more  than  a  passing  glance 
at  most  of  the  sculptures  and  pictures  in  the  ten- 
mile  walk;  but  from  time  to  time  they  paused  to 
examine  one  of  Winterhalter's  portraits  or  Da- 
vid's and  Horace  Vernet's  famous  historical  scenes. 
In  memory  of  Marie  Antoinette,  they  beheaded 
themselves  upon  entering  her  apartments  :  then, 
more  fortunate  than  she,  resumed  their  heads 
again,  and  went  on  their  way  unchallenged.  At 
the  Restaurant  de  la  Chasse  they  had  a  jolly 
little  lunch ;  af^ier  which  they  drove  through 
the  park  to  the  Trianons,  Swiss  Village,  and  Thea- 
tre where  Marie  Antoinette  had  played  three 
days  previous  to  being  led  back  to  Paris  by  the 
mob. 

Dorothy  bade  the  Browns  good-bye  at  the  Paris 
station,  and  upon  Le  Baron  saying  that  he  would 
call  the  next  day,  she  maliciously  answered  : 

"  No,  I  cannot  permit  it ;  our  acquaintance, 
though  pleasant,  is  only  a  travelling  one ;  as  your 
sisters  informed  me  to-day,  we  have  never  been 
properly  introduced." 

With  this  parting  shot  she  jumped  into  a  pass- 
ing tram  and  vanished. 

Young  Brown's  first  thought  was  to  jump  in 
after  her;  then  he  remembered  that  his  sisters  were 
quite  helpless,  not  understanding  French  ;  so  he 
made  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  consoled  him- 


I 


1 


f4 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


self  with  the  thought  that  he  had  her  address 
now,  and  would  call  next  day,  nolens  volcns,  and 
lay  his  heart  and  money  at  her  feet,  which  last 
bait  he  was  mortally  sure  would  be  irresistible. 
His  sisters,  however,  did  not  get  off  scot-free  ;  he 
gave  them  a  good  talking  to  about  interfering  in 
his  affairs,  and  wound  up  by  telling  them  he  was 
boss,  and  that  if  they  were  going  to  fly  off  the 
handle  and  kick  up  a  row  every  time  he  flirted 
with  a  pretty  girl,  he'd  pack  them  right  off  home. 

Alas  !  man  proposes,  etc.  When  next  he  called 
at  Avenue  Trocadero  the  bird  had  flown — where 
no  one  knew. 

When  Dorothy  found  herself  chez  Madame 
Rohr,  rue  Poisson,  she  had  a  hearty  laugh  over 
her  little  ruse  at  young  Brown's  expense ;  then 
set  herself  to  master  the  French  tongue. 

For  a  week  or  two  she  was  very  happy  ;  the 
strangeness  of  her  surroundings  was  delightful  ; 
she  realized  for  the  first  time  that  she  was  in  a 
foreign  country.  Seldom  going  out — wishing  to 
avoid  the  Browns  and  the  "■  gai  vioquciir" — her 
health  and  spirits  suffered.  She  also  found  that 
speaking  French  was  not  the  easy  thing  she 
fancied  it  would  be,  even  though  she  was  in  a 
French  house,  from  the  fact  that  all  the  family 
wished  to  improve  the  opportunity  of  her  being 
there  to  learn  English.  Mistress  and  maid  were 
continually  inquiring,  **  How  you  call  that  in  Eng- 


■ 


i 


I 


. 


^ 


KEPCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


75 


Hsh  ?  "  and  were  not  in  tlic  least  abashed  at  her  tcll- 
inj^them  she  was  there  to  study  French  and  not 
to  teach  English.  They  had  always  some  com- 
pliment ready,  such  as,  "  Only  oui,  mademoiselle^ 
voiis  park::  Fran^ais  trbs  bien.  How  say  you 
trt:s  Men  in  English  ?  " 

This  got  to  be  rather  wearisome  at  last.  Le 
Dimanche  du  Grand  Prix  was  over  ;  society  had 
fled  ;  the  streets  were  deserted  ;  and  as  the  summer 
advanced  her  little  apartment  became  so  hot  and 
stuffy  that  Dorothy  was  glad  to  accept  an  an  pair 
that  came  in  her  way.  It  was  a  school  at  St.  Ger- 
main, where  an  English  teacher  was  required  for 
some  pupils  who  did  not  go  home  for  the  holi- 
days. 


f  'J- 


\ 


■^ 

\ 


I 


I 


76 


KEKCJilKFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  He  looked  at  her  as  a  lover  can  ; 

She  looked  at  him  as  one  who  awakes. 
The  past  was  a  sleep,  and  her  life  began." 

— Robert  Browning. 

With  October  the  tide  turned.  Once  more 
the  world  of  fashion  rolled  Paris-ward,  carrying 
Dorothy  with  it.  Again  she  found  herself 
stranded  in  the  little  apartment,  rue  Poisson,  where 
she  would  be  obliged  to  remain  until  she  could 
find  something  to  do.  It  was  weary  work  going 
the  rounds  of  the  agencies  day  after  day.  Doro- 
thy had  to  summon  up  all  the  courage  and  de- 
termination she  possessed  to  stoop  to  it.  She 
compromised  matters,  however,  by  giving  herself 
an  outing  every  alternate  day.  She  had  yet  to 
visit  what  the  French  call  "  Lcs  niomiments  de 
Parish  She  had  leisure  now ;  why  not  take 
advantage  of  it?  Her  four  months'  residence  in 
France  had  given  her  confidence.  No  fear  of 
meeting  either  the  Browns  or  the  ^^  gai  mo- 
queiir  " — her  "  revcnant"  as  she  mentally  called 
him  for  want  of  a  better  name — should  keep  her 


\ 


fl 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  HULLS. 


11 


prisoner.     If  the  latter  presented  himself  again, 
she  would  face  him  and  fight  it  out. 

Dorothy  had  not  long  to  wait ;  an  encounter 
was  nearer  than  she  anticipated.  It  was  a  glorious 
autumn  morning  ;  she  had  left  home  earlier  than 
usual,  in  high  spirits,  for  a  second  itinerary  in  the 
Quartier  Latin,  loitering  en  route  among  the 
tempting  old  books  displayed  '^n  the  parapets  of 
the  river,  as  was  her  habit  when  parsing  along 
the  quais.  Suddenly  something  made  her  turn 
her  head.  There,  directly  behind  her,  stood  the 
Frenchman  just  as  she  had  seen  him  last  at  Ver- 
sailles, hat  in  hand,  his  curly  chestnut  hair  blown 
by  the  wind,  and  his  black  eyes  dancing  with  mer- 
riment. He  bowed  with  the  air  of  an  eighteenth- 
century  beau,  hand  on  heart,  as  he  wished  her  good 
morning  ;  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
added,  with  all  the  nonchalance  of  an  old  friend : 

**  I've  been  expecting  you,  mademoiselle ; 
you  need  not  look  about  for  a  way  of  escape.  I 
shall  not  let  you  go  this  time ;  you  must  pay  for  the 
shabby  trick  you  played  me  at  Versailles.  I  sup- 
pose you  think  you  checkmated  me,  ma  chcrc  ? 
Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  was  about  to  bid  you  au  rcvoir 
when  you  all  tumbled  into  that  cab  in  such  a 
hurry.  Alon  Dicu  !  I  had  no  chance  at  all ;  that 
young  dude  stuck  like  a  burr  to  you,  et puis,  those 
Yankee  girls  meant  to  make  a  dead  set  at  me. 
There  were  too  many  chaperons  by  three  ;  a  flirta- 


'■;:»!'  -'^'■■•■■-'''^-^I'v'j^ilnBWltULii'liJWii.iiiWiiiiijii. 


f 


I 


78 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


ti'on  with  a  French  schoolgirl  would  have  been 
easier  than  with  you  under  such  circumstances. 
En  passant y  perhaps  you  would  like  to  get  into  a 
fiacre  now  ;  if  so  I  will  call  one  with  pleasure.  It 
is  just  the  day  for  a  drive  in  the  Bois ;  I  shall  en- 
joy it  immensely  with  you,  ma  belle.  What  a 
pity  you  have  not  on  that  stunning  toilette  that 
I  first  introduced  myself  to  !  You  were  a  per- 
fect picture  that  day,  mademoiselle  ;  come  now, 
confess  you  have  never  worn  it  since,  be- 
cause Paul  Caro  and  I  spoke  to  you.  If  you'll 
wear  it  again,  I'll  take  precious  good  care,  I 
promise  you,  that  no  other  fellow  follows  our 
example.  You  know  you  belong  to  me  by  right 
of  discovery.  Psyche." 

During  this  tirade  Dorothy's  feelings  can  be  bet- 
ter imagined  than  described  ;  they  were  of  a  most 
conflicting  character ;  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be 
walking  in  a  dream.  H  -  could  she  get  rid  of 
this  man,  who  seemed  to  have  constituted  himself 
her  protector,  nolens  volens  ?  She  must  be  firm  ; 
it  would  not  do  to  mince  matters;  so  looking  him 
full  in  the  face  she  said  haughtily  : 

"  I  do  not  know,  monsieur,  by  what  right  you 
intrude  upon  me  in  this  way  ;  it  is  most  unwar- 
rantable ;  I  am  neither  'voire  belle'  nor  'voire 
ch^re  ;'  how  dare  you   follow  and  address " 

All  at  once  she  became  confused  ;  her  heart 
jumped   to  her   mouth   and   choked   her.      She 


A-  S. 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


79 


realized  that  she  was  looking  at  him,  and  yet 
could  not  turn  away  ;  his  black  eyes  fixed  on  hers 
magnetized  her  ;  she  saw  before  her,  d'nn  ccup 
d'ccil,  a  pure  oval  face,  short  curly  locks,  Grecian 
brow,  nose,  chin  ;  the  long  moustache,  turning 
upward — what  the  French  call  "  en  croc  " — served 
to  heighten  his  insouciant  smile.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing tout  ensemble  ;  how  could  she  snub  him  ?  She 
felt  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  rising  that 
made  her  thoroughly  ashamed  of  her  gibing  ;  and 
though  she  knew  that  his  look  was  more  intimate 
and  inquisitive  than  he  had  yet  dared,  she  had  no 
strength  nor  wish  to  resist  it.  There  was  a  pause 
— one  could  have  heard  their  hearts  beat — which 
the  gai  moqueur  broke  : 

"  I  was  sure  I  should  meet  you  on  the  borders 
of  the  Seine,  Psyche." 

Her  manner  was  totally  changed,  though  still 
on  the  defensive,  as  she  replied : 

"  Indeed  !  But  tell  me,  monsieur,  do  you  haunt 
the  Seine?  Have  you  been  condemned  to 
wander  a  hundred  years  on  its  banks,  like  the 
disembodied  souls  by  the  waters  of  Avcrnus?" 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  I  have  been  condemned 
to  wander  ghost-like  here,  but  only  until  I  can 
induce  some  lovely  spirit-maid,  also  wandering  on 
its  banks,  to  leave  it  with  me.  Will  you  come, 
mademoiselle,  and  set  me  free?  Mine  has  \  \ 
a  melancholy  f^te  ;  hav^  compassion  upon  me." 


K  % 


8o 


KEKCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Dorothy  glanced  up  at  the  roguish  face  as  it  bent 
down  to  hers,  then  burst  into  a  gale  of  laughter, 
in  which  he  joined.  "  I  am  bound  for  the  Pan- 
theon and  Luxembourg.  I  suppose  if  I  told  you, 
monsieur,  that  I  preferred  to  go  alone,  it  Avould 
make  no  difference  ;  you'd  please  yourself." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  should;  you  don't  know  me 
yet,  mademoiselle.  Just  give  me  a  chance  to 
show  you  what  a  capital  cicerone  I  can  be  ;  I  am 
certain  you  will  miss  me  afterwards  if  you  ever 
have  to  go  alone." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which 
Dorothy  thought,  ''CoiUe  que  cofitc,  I'll  enjoy 
myself  to-day  ;  there's  no  harm  in  it.  Life  is  not 
all  work;  whv  rnay  I  not  gather  the  few  flowers 
that  grow  in  my  path  ?  When  I  try  to  put  him 
down,  I'm  heartily  ashamed  of  my  rudeness,  his 
reply  is  always  so  brilliant  and  disarming." 

Off  they  started  in  search  of  the  beautiful,  with 
all  the  abandon  of  children  lei  loose  from  school. 
After  doing  the  Pantheon  and  St.  Etienne  her 
companion  proposed  their  taking  d(feiiner  to- 
gether at  a  famous  restaurant  Boulevard  St.  Michel. 
Dorothy  hesitated ;  should  she  draw  the  line 
here?  "  No,  why  should  I  ?  the  question  is,  what 
is  right?  not  what  will  Mrs.  Grundy  say?  I  shall 
go  the  whole  figure  to-day."  After  a  rccJicrcJu* 
lunch — salad  mayonnaise  and  champagne  of  the 
best — they  wended  their  way  to  the  Luxembourg. 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Her  companion  proved  an  excellent  guide,  better 
even  than  his  word.  He  vitalized  everything. 
There  was  not  a  picture  in  the  galleries,  a  room 
in  th^  palace,  nor  a  nook  in  the  gardens  of  which 
he  had  not  an  anecdote  to  tell.  It  was  ecstasy  to 
listen  to  him  ;  even  his  audacity  and  wilfulness  were 
fascinating.  Dorothy  was  completely  captivated 
by  the  devotion  of  her  mysterious  companion, 
concerning  whose  identity  she  had  not  the  faintest 
notion — who  he  was,  whether  prince  or  beggar. 
He  told  her  nothing  about  himself.  They  lived  in 
the  present  or  in  the  far  past,  which  he  re-created 
and  peopled  for  her  in  his  original  manner. 

As  he  called  her  Psyche,  she  retorted  by  dubbing 
him  Mercure  ;  the  name  suited  him  so  well,  she 
thought ;  if  the  cestus  of  Venus  is  still  in  existence 
he  surely  must  have  it  ;  his  beauty,  grace  and 
eloquence  are  irresistible. 

The  latter  part  of  the  afternoon,  as  they  were 
retracing  their  steps  towards  the  river,  Dorothy 
said,  "  Many  thanks,  monsieur,  for  a  charming  day. 
I  almost  think  I  prefer  this  side  of  the  Seine  to 
the  one  I  live  on." 

"  Yes,  you  have  Ic  Paris  chic  sur  la  rive  droit, 
ntais  la  rive  gauche  est  du  rote  dii  coeur^'  he  replied. 

"And  now,  monsieur,  will  you  do  me  the  favor 

to  say    good-bye  when   I  take   the  boat    at  the 

bridge  ?  " 
6 


."■^ 


83 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


**  With  pleasure,  mademoiselle,  if  you  will  grant 
me  another  rendezvous.' 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,  I  have  not  yet  given  you 
one;  it  was  quite  an  accident,  our  meeting.  I  do 
not  fancy  it  will  happen  again,  as  I  am  seeking 
an  engagement  as  governess,  and  if  unsuccessful, 
I  shall  return  to  England." 

"  Don't  think  me  impertinent,  mademoiselle,  if 
I  ask  why  you  came  to  France?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  came  abroad  to  see  the 
world,  and  drifted  here,  I  suppose ;  it  was 
chance " 

"  Are  you  sure,  mademoiselle,  it  was  not  Fate  ?  ** 

"  Are  they  not  the  same  ?  " 

"By  no  means;  they  are  very  different.  I  do 
not  think  you  will  leave  Paris,  Psyche ;  Fate 
holds  you  fast  in  her  meshes." 

"  If  such  is  the  case,  I  fear  it  will  be  useless  to 
struggle  against  it.  All  the  same  I  shall  be  care- 
ful not  to  put  inclinations  in  the  place  of  Fate," 
Dorothy  replied  ;  then  added,  "  I  shall  not  soon 
forget  to-day's  escapade ;  fancy  our  having  spent 
it  together — two  strangers,  not  even  knowing  each 
other's  names ! 

"  Pardon !  I  know  yours.  Miss  Pembroke." 

"  Why,  how  did  you  learn  it,  and  I  not  yours  ? 
Surely  I  did  not  tell  you  ?  " 

Without  replying,  her  companion  said,  drawing 
from  his  case  a  card  which  he  handed  to  her: 


K'ERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


83 


"  Allow  me  to  introduce  myself.  I  am  only  a 
poor  devil  of  an  artist  who  will  be  charmed  at 
receiving  a  visit  from  Miss  Pembroke  and  her 
friends  at  his  atelier  any  day  she  may  name." 

Dorothy  took  the  card  and  read  : 


Coiutc  Gaston  dc  Gallcrand. 


L'Impasse  Helene. 


I 


then   handed  it  back  without  comment. 

"  Now  that  you  know  who  I  am  you  will  give 
me  a  rendezvous,  Psyche  ?  "  he  urged. 

"  No,  monsieur  ;  your  telling  me  your  name  does 
not  alter  the  case  ;  how  do  I  know  that  you  are 
not  a  gambler,  an  adventurer,  maybe  a  second 
Pranzini  ?  " 

The  last  words  had  their  effect ;  raising  his  hat 
he  abruptly  left  her — then,  as  if'thinking  better  of 
it,  stood  a  moment  twirling  his  moustache,  finally 
turned,  came  close  up  to  her,  saying  in  his  softest 
tones : 

"I  forgive  you,  mademoiselle;  I  brought 
that  insult  upon  myself;  my  rnly  excuse  is  that 
all  is  fair  in  love  and  war.  That  proverb,  you  know, 
holds  good  in  England  as  well  as  in  France ;  in 


idf 


\\\ 


f 


84 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


fact  all  the  world  over.  But,"  drawing  himself 
up  proudly,  "  I  am  neither  a  gambler  nor  an  ad- 
venturer.    Mademoiselle,  do  I  look  like  one  ?  " 

She  glanced  up — their  eyes  met,  his  full  of 
bravado,  hers  full  of  trouble.  Throwing  back 
her  beautiful  head  she  answered  defiantly : 

"  How  can  I  tell?  I  do  not  know  what  adven- 
turers look  like ;  the  papers  say  Pranzini  was  very 
handsome ;  at  all  events  he  was  always  hanging 
about  the  stations  and  hotels  in  search  of  rich 
Americans.  I  felt  so  sorry  for  the  poor  silly  girl  he 
finally  entrapped.  You  French  ridiculed  her  let- 
ters. I  thought  them  most  pathetic,  especially  the 
one  in  which  she  said  she  hoped  he  would  soon 
come  to  America,  as  she  hated  to  have  him  exposed 
to  the  temptations  of  wicked  Paris.  She  was  a  lit- 
tle fool,  but  she  believed  in  him.  What  a  narrow 
escape  she  had !  Had  he  once  got  to  America 
they  would  have  been  married  immediately.  I 
shudder  to  think  of  the  awakening." 

"  Do  I  understand  that  mademoiselle  is  paying 
me  the  compliment  of  supposing  I  may  be  another 
such  monster  ?  " 

"  Hardly,  monsieur.  1  mentioned  Pranzini  only 
to  show  the  risks  English  and  American  girls  run 
in  Paris,  and  how  careful  they  should  be.  No 
French  mother  would  allow  her  daughter  to  pick 
up  an  acquaintance  on  the  street  as  I  have  met 
you,  would  she?     Answer  me  truly,  monsieur," 


KKKCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


8S 


she  pleaded,  looking  him  full  in  the  face  with  her 
honest  eyes. 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  she  would  not ;  but  Amer- 
ican and  English  girls  are  so  differently  brought 
up,  the  same  rules  do  not  apply  to  them.  A 
French  girl  is  a  baby  until  she  marries.  Such  a 
thing  as  one  in  your  station  of  life  travelling  alone 
would  be  unprecedented,  her  supporting  her- 
self in  a  foreign  land  unheard  of ;  her  parents 
would  never  agree  to  it,  no  matter  how  much  she 
wished  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,  and  I  can  readily  believe  we 
must  strike  the  foreigners  as  being  very  odd, 
going  our  independent  gait.  However,  it  is  quite 
the  correct  thing  in  England.  Woman's  rights, 
coeducation,  and  equal  opportunities  with  men 
are  what  we  are  striving  for.  The  modern  Eng- 
lish girl  wishes  to  make  her  way  in  the  world  on 
the  same  lines  that  her  brother  does  ;  she  thinks 
a  workless  life  a  worthless  life." 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  you  English  and  Ameri- 
can women  are  very  clever,  vidk\  what  you  call 
'  strong-minded  ;  '  not  unlike  the  prc'cieiiscs  of 
Moli^re's  time,  but  not  lovable.  I  admire  beauti- 
ful Anglo-Saxon  blondes,  but  at  a  distance ;  they 
are  like  the  beer  of  their  country,  made  expressly 
for  the  phlegmatic  Teuton  ;  it  suits  him  so  well 
he  will  forsake  all  else  and  drink  only  of  it.  Au 
contraire,  in  la  belle  France  men  sip  and  coquet 


I  ■:>.-,! 


11 


•M 


-4ILX 


Jtmta^i^ 


!     i  !i 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 

with  women  as  with  wine ;  some  are  like  the  vin 
ordi)iairi\  a  necessity;  some  like  Jiurgundy,  a  de- 
h'ght ;  some  Hke  champagne,  intoxicating  ;  some, 
lielas  !  like  can  de  vie,  maddening  ;  it  is  V esprit 
Franqais  that  works  the  mischief." 

"Your  diagnosis,  to  say  the  least,  is  original, 
monsieur  ;  how  have  you  classified  me  ?  " 

"  You,  mademoiselle,  are  English,  viais  pas 
projioncL^e ;  you  are  Celtic,  not  Saxon;  clever,  but 
not  indie  ;  you  \idMQ  plus  d' esprit  than  your  com- 
patriots.* 

"  Thanks,  monsieur,  for  your  complimentary 
opinion.  It  was  Rousseau,  I  think,  who  said, 
*  L esprit  est  la  viaiiie  des  Fran^ais.' 

"  Peut-etre  ;  I  never  heard  it  before,  viais  vraie- 
ment,  cest  tin  mot  juste.  But,  mademoiselle,  you'll 
give  me  a  rendezvous.  Ayez  pitid  de  moi,  a  poor 
artist  who  never  did  anything  yet  worth  expos- 
ing. Now  that  I  have  seen  you  my  head  is  filled 
with  visions  of  what  may  be,  if  you  will  only  give 
me  a  sitting.  My  atelier  is  V Impasse  Hi'lhie.  I 
know  your  friend.  Mademoiselle  Sally  Brown ;  she 
will  escort  you. 

"  How  kind !  so  you  have  picked  up  an  ac- 
quaintance with  her  also  ? — only  I  beg  of  you  do 
not  call  her  my  friend." 

"  Is  she  not  ?  she  claims  you  as  one  of  hers. 
We  have  met  several  times  ;  she  is  studying  with 
Courtois,  you  know." 


Mi 


i   ^i 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


87 


f!.i 


"  No,  I  did  not  know  it ;  but  here  is  my  boat. 
Good-bye,  Count  de  Gallerand,"  slie  said,  hastily 
shalcing  hands. 

''Ah  rcvoir,  mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  as  the 
boat  left  the  pier. 


in 


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I  1 


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f 


88 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"Our  national  mind  and  purpose  are  to  be  amused  and  to 
keep  the  mob  quietly  at  work  while  we  amuse  ourselves;  and  the 
necessity  of  this  amusement  is  fastening  upon  us  as  a  feverous 
disease  of  parched  throat  and  wandering  eyes — senseless,  disso- 
lute, merciless." — Ruskin. 


n 


) 


;  1 1 


A  DAY  or  two  after  her  outing  with  Count  de 
Gallcrand,  who  should  Dorothy  meet  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Honor^  but  Sally  Brown.  She  did  not 
recognize  her  at  first,  she  was  so  changed  ;  gowned 
in  the  most  ultra-English  aesthetic  fashion,  all 
"  greenery-yallery  ;  "  her  pretty  red  hair  frizzed 
and  standing  out  like  a  nimbus  around  her  head. 
"  It  may  be  artistic,  but  it  is  not  becoming," 
Dorothy  thought. 

Miss  Brown's  quarters  being  close  by,  she 
insisted  upon  dragging  Dorothy  in  to  look  at 
them. 

"We  are  a  nice  crowd,  just  to  my  liking. 
I'm  on  my  own  hook,  you  know ;  we  have  a 
superdangulous  old  time  of  it,  I  can  tell  you. 
There  are  six  in  the  house,  four  girls  and  two 
men,  all  artists — but  here's  my  atelier." 

Since  so  many  drawing-rooms  are  modelled  after 


I 


)^ 


I- 


A'EKC///lil-S  TO  IIUXT  SOULS. 


89 


the  ideal  studio  nowadays — in  fact,  turned  into  old- 
curiosity  shops,  for  the  display  of  cracked  china, 
worm-eaten  tapestries,  Japanese  hangings,  ei^ht- 
day  clocks,  cathedral  chairs,  and  spinninj^-wheels, 
tricked  out  like  prize  oxen  at  Easter,  with  flowers 
and  ribbons  in  every  conceivable  shade — Dorothy 
was  not  much  impressed  by  the  litter  of  choice 
nothings — art  muslins,  artificial  plants,  painted 
sabots  and  plaques,  with  pencil  drawings  and  char- 
coal sketches  pinned  against  the  wall  or  scattered 
on  the  tables — that  filled  Sally's  studio.  In  one 
corner  was  a  gorgeously  attired  figure  to  which 
Dorothy  bowed,  much  to  Sally's  delight,  when 
the  latter  introduced  her  mannikin  as  "  Miss 
Peggy  Wood."  Taking  it  all  in  all  it  was  strange 
that  anyone  calling  herself  an  artist  could  display 
so  little  of  the  artistic  in  the  arrangement  of  her 
person  and  room.  A  nearer  inspection,  however, 
showed  many  little  peculiarities  .of  adornment 
that  had  not  yet  found  their  way  into  London 
orthodox  drawing-rooms  ;  for  instance,  the  black 
and  white  sketches  of  the  human  form  divine  in 
every  conceivable  and  to  her  inconceivable  at- 
titude. 

"  What  have    you    these    horrid    monstrosities 
hung  on  your  walls  for,  Miss  Brown  ?  " 
"  Oh,  these  are  my  studies  from  life." 
"  You    do  not  mean  that  undraped  humanity 
sits  for  you  to  draw  ?  " 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


'lli 


t  ! 


W   I 


\      \ 


\ 


"  Why  not  ?  it  is  all  in  the  way  of  business." 

•*  I  must  say  it  is  simply  disgusting;  how  could 
you  get  courage  to  look  at  the  creatures,  much 
less  draw  them  ? — not  even  a  girdle  about  their 
loins !  And  then  fancy  having  the  masters — 
Courtois  or  G^rome,  for  instance — criticizing  your 
work  ! 

**  Oh,  it  is  nothing  when  once  you  are  used  to 
it ;  besides,  the  model  does  sport  a  girdle  about 
his  loins ;  only  most  of  the  girls,  I  among  the 
number,  prefer  the  fig-leaf." 

**  I  would  advise  you  to  take  pattern  of  Mother 
Eve,  and  sew  several  together,"  suggested 
Dorothy. 

"  I  declare,  ma  chire,  you  are  as  bad  as  mar ; 
she  actually  objected  to  la  belle  Jardiniere  be- 
cause the  child  was  naked.  And  let  me  tell  you 
what  she  said  of  the  Venus  de  Milo,  it  was  so 
original — that  she  would  have  liked  it  better  if 
some  of  the  red  velvet  that  was  hanging  upon  the 
walls  had  been  made  into  a  gown  and  hung  upon 
her  shoulders."  '.  , 

Dorothy  laughed  ;  that  was  a  little  too  prudish 
even  for  her.  Dorothy's  appreciation  of  the  joke 
so  delighted  Sally  that  she  condescendingly  said  : 

"  Oh,  you'll  come  round  all  right  in  time,  my 
dear.  And  now,  since  you  have  got  over  your  can- 
tankerousness,  I'll  show  you  my  picture  gallery  ;  " 
saying  which  she  opened  a  large  portfolio,  and 


I 


!     I 


HttfaAWM^LMuxo 


A'ERCI/IEI-S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


9» 


displayed  a  number  of  sketches — counterparts,  it 
seemed  to  Dorothy,  of  those  on  the  wall. 

"  How  do  these  differ  from  those  I  have  seen  ? 
and  why  are  they  derogated  to  the  seclusion  of 
a  portfolio?"  •      i 

"Oh,  these  are  family  portraits,  don't  you  know, 
ma  cherey '  Les  vaillants  de  lagrande  arm^c  de  I  art !  ' 
I've  not  many;  in  fact,  only  begun  my  collection. 
Look  here;  this  is  my  chef  d'cciivre ;  'tis  Bonnat's 
*  Job.'  Don't  you  think  Hector  Hanoteau  would 
be  charmed  to  see  his  head  on  anything  so  classi- 
cal ?  Voilh  mes  trots  mousquet aires  !  Tony  Fleury, 
Van  Beers,  and  a  dare-devil  friend  of  theirs  and 
mine.  Don't  Munkacsy  make  a  sweet  Mephis- 
topheles  ?  But  look  here  ;  "  and  she  held  before 
Dorothy's  astonished  gaze  a  portrait  of  Count  de 
Gallerand  in  the  character  of  Faust. 

"  How  did  you  get  that  ?  He  surely  never  sat 
to  you  ?  "  Dorothy  cried. 

"He's  a  regular  masher,  isn't  he? —  *a  royal 
gommeux,'  as  they  say  at  the  atelier.  All  the 
girls  are  quite  gone  over  him,  and  whenever  he 
puts  in  an  appearance,  my  !  don't  we  let  every- 
.  thing  else  go  bang,  and  sketch  him  !  I  walk  behind 
the  band — do  you  catch  on  ?  They  say  my  pic- 
ture is  the  best ;  I  suppose  because  I  see  more  of 
him  than  the  others,"  Sally  simpered  ;  she  did 
not  add  that  it  was  always  to  inquire  about  Miss 
Pembroke  that  he  stopped  to  talk  to  her ;  and 


il 


92 


KERCHIEFS  TO  IIUNT  SOULS. 


Dorothy  thought,  *'  Good  heavens !  what  can  he 
sec  to  ad.Tiire  in  Miss  Brown  ?  I  thought  him 
fastidious,  but  it  seems  he  will  flirt  with  anyone 
in  petticoats."  It  also  flashed  upon  her  that 
Sally  had  insisted  upon  this  visit  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  finding  out  about  Count  de  Gallerand  ; 
so  she  made  up  her  mind  not  to  mention  him, 
and  changed  the  subject  by  asking  after  her  sister 
and  brother. 

"  Why  did  Miss  Brown  leave  you  ? "  she  in- 
quired. 

"  For  the  best  of  reasons  ;  I  was  only  too  glad 
to  get  rid  of  her ;  she  was  a  perfect  marplot. 
Mar  wanted  her  to  stay  with  me  when  she  knew 
I  was  set  upon  remaining  here,  but  I  wouldn't 
have  her.  She  was  always  preaching  etiquette  ; 
thought  it  bad  form  to  ride  on  the  top  of  street  cars ; 
was  always  talking  pedigrees  ;  had  that  book  of  the 
Browns  that  she  showed  you  always  to  the  fore  ; 
and  as  for  Burke's  *  Peerage,'  she  read  it  far  more 
religiously  than  she  read  her  Bible.  No  matter 
how  nice  English  people  might  be,  she  refused  to 
know  them  if  their  names  were  not  in  the  *  Peer- 
age.* You  see,  she'd  come  abroad  for  the  express 
purpose  of  catching  a  lord.  Her  head  has  been 
quite  turned,  unfortunately,  since  the  English 
nobility  are  running  after  our  girls  for  their 
money ;  and  I  bet  you  there  are  not  many  have 
more  tin  than  we  have.     Would  you  believe  it,  I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


n 


actually  overheard  par  tell  a  man  he'd  give  any- 
one who'd  marry  one  of  his  daughters  five  million 
dollars  on  the  wedding  day." 

"  And  what  did  the  man  say  to  that  ?  "  Dorothy 
laughingly  inquired. 

"  Why,  he  jumped  at  it,  and  said  he'd  take  us 
both.  But  it  takes  two  to  make  a  bargain,  I 
guess.  We'd  something  to  say  to  that.  Well, 
as  I  was  remarking,  I  shipped  Hannah  Jane  off. 
She's  now  in  England  having  a  perfectly  elegant 
time.  You  see,  she  saw  in  the  Queen  that  a 
lady  of  the  real  aristocfiicy,  Baroness  Hamilton, 
would  be  glad  to  chaperon  in  societ)-  and  intro- 
duce at  court  any  pretty  young  American  lady 
with  money;  it  was  a  chance,  and  Hannah  Jane 
snapped  at  it.  Mar  writes  she  hopes  she'll  catch 
a  lord  soon,  for  she's  spending  a  heap.  I  guess 
our  money  must  be  running  the  establishment ; 
if  so,  the  baroness  will  take  good  care  not  to  kill 
the  hen  that  lays  the  golden  eggs.  Goodness ! 
but  ain't  it  slow  work  fishing  for  lords  !  And,  my  ! 
wasn't  Hannah  Jane  mad  because  you  and  I.e 
Baron  were  spoons  !  I  always  stood  up  for  you, 
but  she  said  she  would  never  consent  to  he»- 
brother  marrying  beneath  him.  Le  Baron  was 
cut  up  mighty  bad  when  you  gave  him  the  slip. 
Wherever  did  you  hide?  Between  ourselves,  my 
dear,  I  think  that  was  half  the  reason  he  went 
home.     You  needn't  mind  Hannah  ;  if  she  does 


^■•> 


94 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


marry  a  lord,  she'll  take  precious  good  care  to 

ep  out  of  our  way  ;  and  par  and  mar  won't  ob- 
ject worth  a  cent  ;  they  say  they  want  their  chil- 
dren to  please  themselves,  as  they  did.  But,  say, 
won't  you  write  to  Le  ^aron  and  fix  it  up  with 
him?" 

"  I  could  not  think  of  it.  Miss  Brown.  I  may 
call  you  Sally,  may  I  not  ?  " 

**  Of  course  you  may  ;  I  presume  we  are  enough 
acquainted  for  that.  But,  say,  why  won't  you 
write  him  ?  " 

"  For  many  reasons,"  Dorothy  replied.  "  First, 
I  am  not  in  love  with  your  brother,  and,  secondly, 
I  have  no  wish  to  change  my  lot.  I  am  as  much 
in  love  with  my  profession  as  you  are  with  yours." 

"  Why,  I  want  to  know !  can  one  be  in  love 
with  teaching  as  with  art  ?  I  never  thought  of 
that  before." 

"  Certainly  ;  I  am  quite  as  much  in  love  with  the 
intellectual  part  of  my  work  as  you,  I  fancy,  are 
with  yours,  or  rather,  Ics  maitrcs  are  with  theirs." 

"  How  strange  it  never  struck  me  ths  '  way  be- 
fore !  One  hears  so  often  of  musicians,  sculptors, 
painters  making  a  mistress  of  their  art,  but 
never  a  teacher."  •  . 

"  True,  I  acknowledge  it  is  the  fashion  to  talk 
in  that  way,  I  suppose  because  the  professions 
you  name  are  the  beaux  arts.  But  teaching  is 
equally  worthy  of   consideration,  for  it    is  one    of 


i-  \ 


KERCHIEFS  fb  HUNT  SOULS. 


95 


/...' 


'•■; 


the  arts  libdraux,  where  intelligence  occupies  the 
highest  plane." 

"Indeed!  but  I  am  no  hand  at  argufying; 
you  are  much  too  brainy  for  me ;  I  only  wish  Le 
Baron  were  here,  he's  real  clever  and  a  crack 
discusser." 

"  But  you  are  not  alone  here,  Sally,  are  you  ?  " 
Dorothy  asked. 

**  No,  thank  goodness !  not  now ;  I've  an  old 
chum  with  me.  When  Le  Baron  and  Hannah  Jane 
left  me,  a  year  ago,  I  wrote  mar  to  send  over  Ger- 
tie Smith.  Her  par's  not  rich  like  ours,  and  she  has 
to  do  something  for  herself,  and  she  has  a  perfect 
talent  for  painting  ;  and  I  thought  if  mar  would 
pay  her  passage,  she'd  come  ;  but  when  mar  told 
her  I  was  drawing  from  the  nude  and  she  would 
have  to,  too,  if  she  studied  in  Paris,  my  jiminy  ! 
didn't  she  flatly  refuse  to  come  ? — said  she'd  give  up 
art  sooner.  Well,  you  bet  I  know  a  thing  or  two ; 
so  I  wrote  mar  to  say  nothing,  but  jest  get  her 
that  place  in  a  hospital  she  was  crazy  after.  You 
see,  she  thought  she  had  a  vocation  that  way. 
Well,  mar  did  jest  as  I  said,  and  it  worked  like  a 
charm,  so  when  we  made  the  same  offer  this  year 
Gertie  jumped  at  it.  She  doesn't  mind  the  models 
now  one  bit  more  than  I.  I  tell  you  there  is  noth- 
ing like  getting  used  to  seeing  people  without 
clothes,  my  dear.    Every  nude  woman  is  a  Venus." 

"  Perhaps   you    will   be  setting  the   fashion  of 


96 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


I 


I 


going  disrobed  yourself  some  day,"  Dorothy  sar- 
castically said ;  but  the  sarcasm  was  lost  upon 
Sally,  who  simply  replied  : 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  ;  I  draw  the  line  there.  I  love 
fancy  dry-goods  and  stylish  gowns  like  this  one 
too  well  ever  to  give  them  up.  Gertie  goes  in 
strong  for  dress  reform — divided  skirts  and  all 
those  highfalutin  notions,  I  can  tell  you.  Then, 
too,  we  girls  often  sit  for  each  other.  But  what 
arc  you  standing  for,  dear?  I'm  just  going  to 
ring  for  a  pitcher  of  hot  water  to  make  some  tea 
with  ;  you'll  not  be  so  mean  as  to  go  before  it's 
made  ;  I  have  it  every  afternoon  h  V Anglaise.'" 

Dorothy  accepted  a  cup,  and  shortly  after 
took  her  leave,  when  a  bevy  of  frowsy  heads  and 
lanky  robes  burst  in  upon  her  hostess. 


jn»Mwi»-""^— 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


97 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"Nature's  rule  is  not  the  righteous,  but  the  strong  shall  inherit 
the  land;  find  something  weaker  and  kill  it  and  take  possession 
of  its  little  vineyar'^.,  and  no  Nahoth's  curse  shall  follow  you,  but 
you  shall  thrive." — C,  Kingsley. 


V  * 


Dorothy  was  beginning  to  think  it  was  useless 
for  her  to  try  to  get  anything  through  the  agents, 
she  and  they  were  so  antagonistic.  There  are  two 
kinds  of  agencies  in  Paris:  those  kept  by  men  and 
those  kept  by  women.  The  latter  are  preferable  ; 
the  former,  although  more  businesslike,  are  more 
brutal ;  as  an  example  of  the  latter  class  let  us  take 
one  on  rue  Miromesnil.  An  dcuxicme  is  a  door 
with  a  little  brass  knob  in  the  centre,  above  which 
are  the  words  ^^Entrcz  sans  sonncr,''  which  hav- 
ing done,  you  find  yourself  in  a  small  square  ante- 
room, so  filled  with  women  that  you  are  obliged 
to  stand  several  minutes  before  securing  a  seat. 

While  waiting  your  turn  you  have  ample  time  to 
take  an  inventory  of  the  room,  which  is  very  well 
furnished,  and  is  ornamented  with  placques  and 
pictures  not  too  bad  in  their  way.  The  occupants, 
like  yourself,  are  looking  for  work.  One  can  often 
judge  by  their  toilettes  what  their  social  position  is, 
7 


i  I 


|i  KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 

and  what  they  arc  wilhng  to  take.  Here  is  the 
tall,  well-dressed  girl  furnished  with  an  Oxford  or 
Cambridge  diploma  ;  she  scorns  everything  but  a 
well-paid  governess's  place.  Next  her  is  a  lady- 
like woman  on  the  shady  side  of  thirty,  who,  find- 
ing that  a  knowledge  of  conversational  French 
is  a  necessity  if  she  would  keep  her  situation  in 
England,  asks  only  a  place  '' an  pair''  in  some 
good  family.  It  is  not  until  her  savings  are  almost 
gone  that  she  realizes  that  no  private  family  in 
France  wants  a  governess  on  mutual  terms  as  in 
England.  Apartments  of  the  '' pet  its  manages" 
are  too  small  to  give  up  a  room  to  the  governess ; 
they  prefer  one  to  come  by  the  hour.  Le  grand 
inondc  in  large  apartments  would  rather  pay  their 
teachers.  Near  the  door  is  seated  a  poor  girl 
whom  Dorothy  has  met  in  all  the  bureaus.  She 
has  been  in  Paris  for  years,  knows  all  the  routine, 
has  once  or  twice  fallen  upon  her  feet,  but  not  for 
long ;  each  autumn  sees  her  back  again,  besieging 
the  agencies,  poorer  and  more  dilapidated  than 
the  season  before.  Now  she  is  willing  to  do  any. 
thing,  even  to  take  a  nursery-maid's  place,  provid- 
ed you  call  it  gouvcrnante  or  nursery  governess. 
By  the  way,  you  can  do  anything  but  go  into  a 
shop ;  once  do  that  you  can  never,  if  it  is  known, 
teach  or  governess  again. 

But    all  the   applicants  are  not  as  pitiable  as 
these  last.     Those  showy,  overdressed  girls  with 


/,  r 


KEh*CinEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


99 


i,' 


golden  hair  can  hardly  want  teachers'  situations ; 
perhaps  they  have  come  to  cnj^a^e  some  one  to 
^ivc  them  lessons.  Oh,  no,  they  would  not  be  in 
this  room  if  that  were  the  case  ;  those  seeking 
teachers  are  shown  into  the  salon,  luxurious  in 
mirrors  and  rugs.  Neither  do  they  take  their  turn 
with  the  applicants  that  are  admitted  directly  into 
the  iniiLM-  sanctum.  These  girls  are  on  the  look- 
out for  something  easy,  as  companions  to  orphans 
or  housekeepers  to  widowers  ;  they  must  live,  and 
money  they  must  have,  but  they  do  not  like  hard 
work.  They  are  the  kind  that  end  by  going  into 
shops,  oftenest  the  perfumery  or  flower  shops,  if 
they  do  nothing  worse. 

But  Dorothy's  turn  has  come.  Madame  does  not 
keep  her  clients  long ;  good-day  and  good-bye  are 
almost  in  the  same  breath.  "  Anything  for  me  ?  " 
is  the  usual  salutation  after  the  first  visit,  when 
the  name  and  address  and  the  franc  for  paper 
and  stamps  arc  taken  in  case  of  writing.  The 
government  forbids  a  fee  being  charged  before  a 
situation  is  secured,  but  there  are  many  ways  of 
getting  over  this  ;  for  instance,  by  asking  you  to 
subscribe  ten  or  twenty  francs  for  an  educational 
journal  where  you  can  advertise  gratis.  "  No, 
nothing  to-day,"  is  the  invariable  response  to  the 
ninety-and-nlne.  Occasionally  you  hear  high 
words,  threats  of  telling  the  police,  which  gener- 
ally end  in  a  list  of  two  or  three  places  being 


u 


lOO 


KERCHIEFS  7  "  IfUNT  SOULS. 


\  !i 


given.  This  quells  the  storm  for  a  time,  but  the 
insurgent  is  really  not  much  better  off  than  be- 
fore, the  same  list  having  been  given  out  more 
than   once  that  day  from  every  agency  in  Paris. 

The  proprietor  of  the  bureau,  Madame  Carotte, 
an  old  woman  of  seventy  or  over,  dressed  like  a 
young  girl,  her  head  crowned  with  a  light  wig, 
looked  up  as  Dorothy  was  admitted,  and  said,  "  I 
did  not  expect  to  see  you  here  again." 

"Indeed!  pray  why  not?" 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  quite  too  high  and  mighty 
to  take  anything  I  fiad  to  offer,  after  refusing 
to  go  c/icz  Madame  Richard,  an  old  St.  Germain 
family." 

"  I  did  not  refuse  to  go,  I  only  told  Madame 
Richard  when  she  asked  for  my  testimonials,  that 
I  would  exchange  references  with  her.  How 
could  I  know  that  she  was  of  an  old  St.  Germain 
family  ?  She  certainly  does  not  live  in  that 
quarter,  and  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  it  in 
her  apartment.  You  never  mentioned  it,  but  it  is 
of  no  consequence  ;  had  you  done  so,  I  should 
have  asked  her  all  the  same  for  references,  for  I 
shall  never  enter  any  family  as  governess  that  I 
know  nothing  about." 

"  Eh  bicn  !  mademoiselle,  I  have  nothing  that 
will  suit  you.    Bon  jour '^ 

*'  If  Madame  Richard  is  a  sample  of  your 
patrons,  you  certainly  have  not  ;  good-morning." 


w 


Hi   ! 


K'KRCirrEl'S  TO  /l(/A''r  <vi/Y..?. 


lOl 


Withhiirh  head  and  flushed  face  Dorotliy  cahiily 
and  proudly  passed  through  the  crowded  ante- 
room. As  she  closed  the  door  it  was  with  a  sense 
of  relief  for  herself,  vowing  she  would  never  set 
foot  there  again,  and  a  feeling  akin  to  pity  for  the 
poor,  spiritless  creatures  she  had  left  behind,  tak- 
ing their  insults  like  dumb,  driven  cattle,  many 
without  the  courage  of  a  worm  that  turns  when  it 
is  trampled  on.  So  intense  were  her  feelings  that, 
half  way  down  the  stairs,  she  stopped,  clenched 
her  hands,  turned,  went  back  a  few  steps,  then 
— burst  into  excited  laughter.  "  What  was  I 
going  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  with  horror,  as  the  laugh 
gave  place  to  tears.  For  the  space  of  three  or 
four  minutes  she  had  been  quite  beside  herself, 
crazy,  mad,  call  it  what  you  will.  In  that  brief 
interval  she  had  planned  all  the  details  of  an  in- 
surrection. She  would  put  herself  at  the  head  of 
the  little  band  of  women  in  the  anteuom,  seize 
and  throttle  the  old  woman  who  represented  mis- 
used power,  and  force  her  to  give  them  work. 

In  those  few  minutes  she  comprehended  perfectly 
the  height  and  depth  of  the  French  Revolution. 
She,  a  daughter  of  the  most  conservative  of  con- 
servatives, was  for  the  space  of  three  or  four  min- 
utes an  anarchist.  Then  came  the  revulsion  that 
only  strong  natures  can  feel ;  tears  came  to  her 
eyes,  her  heart  beating  and  throbbing  as  if  it 
would  burst  as  she  leaned  for  support  against  the 


l^J 


102 


KERCIIIEI'S  TO  JJUiXT  SOULS. 


wall.  But  the  door  above  opens,  and  steps  arc 
heard  descending.  Gulping  down  her  sobs  she 
hun  s  on  and  is  soon  mingling  with  the  crowd, 
rushing  along  as  if  possessed,  looking  neither  to 
the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left.  The  pent-up  feel- 
ings of  years  had  burst  their  barriers  and  threat- 
ened to  engulf  her  soul.  Her  equilibrium,  however, 
was  partially  restored  by  the  fresh  autumn  air,  and 
when  she  got  to  Pare  Monceau  she  threw  herself 
on  one  of  the  benches  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  She 
was  alone  at  last,  and  at  liberty  to  think.  But  her 
trials  were  by  no  means  over  ;  she  had  another 
battle  to  wage.  Comte  de  Gallerand  was  close 
behind  her;  hardly  was  she  seated  ere  she  heard 
his  merry  voice,  so  little  in  harmony  with  her 
present  feelings,  calling,  "  Whither  so  fast,  ma 
belle  Anglaise  ?  " 

Without  turning,  without  replying,  she  jumped 
up  and  hastened  on.  He  was  at  her  side  in  an 
instant.  "  Mon  Dicii  !  Psyche,  \vhat  is  it  ?  has 
anything  happened  ?  Why  so  sad  ?  You're  as 
pale  as  a  sheet  ;  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  perfectly  well ;  I  only  wish  you  would 
not  pounce  upon  me  in  this  way  ;  you  startled  me, 
and  I  detest  being  startled  when  I  have  a  headache 
and  am  nervous,"  she  petulantly  exclaimed. 

Comte  de  Gallerand  took  her  onslaught  with  an 
amused  smile ;  he  was  contemplating  a  coup  and 
would  not  be  put  off. 


( 


\ 


KERCIUF.FS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


103 


' 


"  I  don't  wonder  you  have  a  headache  ;  it  is 
those  abominable  agents ;  they'll  kill  you  before 
they  are  done  with  you.  I  saw  you  coming  out 
of  that  old  woman's.  Give  up  this  idea  of  teaching, 
.  send  the  whole  business  to  the  devil,  and  put 
yourself  under  my  protection,  mademoiselle." 

"And  what  would  you  do  for  me,  monsieur?" 
she  asked,  too  naive  to  understand  him. 

"  Oh,  I'll  see  that  you  enjoy  yourself ;  my  one 
object  in  joining  you  to-day  was  to  persuade  you 
to  cast  your  lot  in  with  mine.  Let  me  provide  for 
you.  VVe  were  made  for  one  another.  Psyche. 
The  first  time  I  saw  you  my  heart  went  out  to 
meet  yours.  Did  you  not  feel  the  same  for  me, 
ma  mic  ?  I  was  a  mere  butterfly  till  you  came  ; 
I  lived  for  the  present  moment  only  ;  now  I  have 
an  object  in  life,  something  to  work  for  ;  ah  !  mon 
dmc !  my  Psyche !  do  not  send  me  away,"  he 
pleaded. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Dorothy 
frigidly. 

"  Well,  to  be  more  explicit,  I  have  not  yet  made 
my  mark  in  the  world.  With  youa>  an  inspiration 
I  am  sure  to  do  it.  I'll  paint  you  in  every  con- 
ceivable character  ;  I  long  to  begin.  Which  shall 
it  be  first  ?  Jeanne  d'Arc  hearing  voices  and  see- 
ing visions,  or  an  Assomption  ?  Do  you  know 
you  are  the  living,  breathing  image  of  Murillo's 
at  the  Louvre?    Et puis,  you  might  take  lessons 


I  I. 


It" 


I 


104 


KERCIIIF.I'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


in  painting  of  me.  I  am  sure  you  will  succeed, 
with  your  artistic  taste,  vion  amic.  Allans  I  we  will 
visit  the  galleries  by  day  and  the  theaires  by 
night  " 

"  Not  another  word  ;  leave  me,  sir,"  cried  Doro- 
thy, coloring  with  indignation  as  the  meaning  of 
her  companion's  words  flashed  upon  her.  "  I'm  a 
fool  to  have  given  you  the  opportunity  to  insult 
me ;  once  and  for  all,  Comte  de  Gallerand,  I 
despise  you.  And,  by  the  way,  let  me  mention 
that,  although  alone  in  Paris,  I  am  not  without 
friends  should  I  choose  to  v  rite  or  telegraph.  I 
have  a  tried,  faithful  one  who  would  leave  every- 
thing at  a  moment's  notice  to  hasten  to  my  assist- 
ance. Neither  am  I  without  money  ;  I  have  only 
to  call  at  Baring  Brothers  to  draw  what  I  wish. 
It  is  a  whim,  a  fad,  English  peculiarity,  whatever 
you  choose  to  call  it,  that  I  am  now  in  Paris  sup- 
porting myself.  But  here  is  my  pension  ;  I  shall  bid 
you  good-day — not  mi  rcvoir,  but  farewell.  And 
please  remember,  Comte  de  Gallerand,  I  shall  not 
permit  this  intimacy  to  go  i.ny  farther.  If  you 
persist  in  it  I  shall  apply  to  the  British  consul  for 
protection." 

**  Man  Dicu  !  mademoiselle,  you  are  cold  ;  you 
are  always  on  the  defensive ;  you  think  me  insin- 
cere, unscrupulous  ;  you  have  no  right  to  do  so,  I 
never  gave  you  any  cause.  There  is  no  one  in 
the  world  I  would  sooner  please  than  you.  Psyche. 


»  I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


lOS 


L^ 


Mais  !  it  shall  be  adicii  this  time  ;  if  you  insist  I'll 
not  obtrude  my  society  upon  you  any  lon^^er. 
I'm  not  a  biagucur,  neither  do  I  try  to  appear 
good  h  V Anglaise ;  we  call  a  spade  a  spade  in 
France.  You  have  sent  me  off ;  I  shall  not  break 
my  heart,  I'll  wait.  You'll  ask  me  yet  to  come 
back." 

"  It  will  be  a  long  day  ere  I  do  that,  monsieur," 
she  haughtily  replied. 

"  Pciit-ctrc,  but  come  it  will — nay,  mark  my 
words,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  sue  for 
my  protection  with  more  persistence  than  I  have 
to-day  sued  for  a  kind  word  and  look  from  you." 

"  God  forbid  such  a  calamity  ;  but  should  it 
happen,  say,  what  would  you  do — remind  me  of 
this  and  be  revenged  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle,  what  would  not  love  do  for  its 
beloved  ?  "  he  replied,  stooping  so  low  over  her  that 
she  felt  as  if  clasped  in  his  arms,  though  he  did  not 
even  touch  her  ;  then  standing  erect  he  bowed,  in 
his  gay  chevalier  manner,  smiled  his  beautiful, 
polished  smile,  wished  her  adieu,  and  was  gone. 


r\ 


1 06 


KKRCHJEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  We  live  in  deeds,  not  years  ;   in  thoughts,  not  breaths ;  in  feel- 
ings, not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.     He  most  lives 
Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best." — Bailey. 

Dorothy  was  not  many  minutes  in  mounting 
the  stairs  to  the  little  apartment  au  qiiatrihne. 
Telling  the  maid  who  opened  the  door  that  she 
had  a  headache,  and  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed 
until  the  next  morning,  she  hurried  to  her  room, 
turned  the  key,  threw  herself  upon  the  bed, 
and  had  a  good  cry.  At  last  with  a  long-drawn 
sigh  she  set  to  work  to  calmly  review  the  events 
of  the  day.  How  could  she  solve  her  difficulties? 
How  could  she  extricate  herself  from  the  toils  she 
felt  were  closing  around  her?  She  was  without 
money,  and  must  get  work.  There  was  not  a 
person  in  that  great  city  to  whom  she  could  go. 
Oh,  if  the  rich  only  knew  how  much  she  needed 
work,  would  they  not  give  it  to  her?  But  they 
did  not,  and  they  would  not  know.  She  might 
call  at  their  homes,  and  if  the  servant  admitted 
her,  and  she  told  them  how  much  she  wanted 
it,  they  would  not  believe  her  ;  they  could  not 
realize  it  any  more  than  the  queen  who,  when 


^■"'Tl 


'*  vl 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


107 


)f 


told  that  the  people  were  starving  for  bread,  ex- 
claimed, "  Why,  then,  do  they  not  eat  cake  ?  " 
She,  Dorothy,  would  be  told  that  she  did  not  look 
like  an  object  of  charity  ;  that  there  were  societies 
for  helping  the  poor,  bureaus  where  work  was 
given  out,  to  which  they  subscribed  annually. 
Then  they  would  wonder  what  had  brought  her 
to  this  pass.  Some  would  even  insult  her  by 
offering  her  a  shilling,  telling  her  if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst  to  apply  to  the  Church,  or  the 
British  Embassy,  to  be  sent  home.  Little  did 
they  know  of  the  many  daily  applying,  of  the 
many  daily  turned  away  ;  neither  would  they 
consider  as  to  whether  she  would  be  better  off 
in  England  ;  they  only  knew  she  would  be  out  of 
sight,  where  it  would  be  somebody  else's  duty  to 
look  after  her. 

Dorothy  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  apply  to 
her  own  people  in  America,  so  she  never  gave 
them  a  thought.  Her  one  care  was  to  keep  from 
thinking  of  them,  to  try  to  forget  their  existence, 
as  they  to  all  appearance  had  hers.  However,  she 
found  upon  comparing  her  lot  with  that  of  many 
girls  around  her  that  she  was  better  off  than  they, 
for  she  had  one  true  friend,  and  they  were  quite 
alone.  Had  the  time  come  for  her  to  write  or 
cable  to  Harry  Alexander,  as  she  had  promised 
him  to  do  when  in  difficulty?  No,  no;  not  yet; 
that  would  be  acknowledging  herself  beaten.     She 


.Ur 


io8 


Kf'lRCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


would  be  bound  to  m<irry  him  if  she  did.  She 
must  struggle  on  a  little  longer  ;  the  tide  would  be 
sure  to  turn,  it  always  does  ;  it  must  be  at  its 
lowest  now.  "  Nothing  shall  induce  me  to  sell  my- 
self either  to  him  or  to  Comte  de  Gallerand."  At 
the  thought  a  vision  of  the  latter,  with  his  flashing 
eyes,  chestnut  hair,  beard  h  la  Prince  of  Wales, 
moustache  long  and  curling  upward,  came  with 
all  its  effrontery  and  audacity  between  her  and 
Harry's  aristocratic  face. 

"  Oh,  he  is  so  handsome  !  if  I  could  only  trust 
him  I  could  love  him  dearly.  Why  can't  I  ?  Is  it 
intuition  that  tells  me  I  must  not,  or  is  it  national 
prejudice,  as  he  says  ?  No  matter  which,  I  am 
glad  I  am  rid  of  him.  I  will  live  without  either 
of  them.  Men  have  been  the  plague  of  my  life 
always.  Why  will  they  never  take  us  seriously  ? 
Why  cannot  a  woman  go  to  a  man,  as  one  man 
goes  to  another,  and  say,  '  I  have  a  little  scheme 
on  foot,  will  you  lend  me  so  much  to  venture 
with  ?  I  have  no  securities,  I  am  only  beginning, 
but  you  may  insure  my  life  in  your  favor.'  What 
would  the  answer  be  ?  Most  likely  from  the  pro- 
fessional man  or  the  respectable  paterfamilias  a 
tirade  against  woman  engaging  in  business,  with 
trite  advice  about  home  being  woman's  sphere, 
ending  with  some  platitudes  as  to  not  liking  to 
take  such  security  from  women.  If  the  man  is  a 
rake,  he  will  more  than  likely   insult  you  with  an 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


109 


offer  of  his  love.  Should  you  show  a  little  spirit, 
and  indignantly  refuse  it,  not  a  penny  will  you 
get  ;  accept  him  as  a  lover  and  he  will  shower  un- 
told wea'-h  and  favor  upon  you — as  long  as  you 
please  him.  We  all  know  the  kind  of  woman 
that  makes  her  way,  with  solitary  exceptions, 
upon  the  stage.  It  is  the  manager's  favorite  that 
gets  the  plums.  Upon  my  word,  I  do  not  wonder 
that  so  many  girls  go  under  when  men  offer  them 
every  inducement  to  do  so,  and  put  so  many  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  to  prevent  their  getting  on 
independently  of  them.  One  has  but  to  be  poor 
to  see  behind  the  masks  that  mort  men  wear 
in  this  world  ;  why,  even  their  own  wives  would 
hardly  know  many  of  them  if  they  suddenly  came 
upon  them  talking  to  a  shop-girl  or  a  young  per- 
son not  in  society.  And  these  same  poor  women 
are  bctc  enough  to  be  flattered,  hoodwinked,  be- 
guiled, and  cajoled  into  giving  up  the  best  of  their 
lives  to  pleasing  the  animal  in  such  men.  Then, 
when  they  are  old  and  ugly,  he  sends  them  to  the 
devil !  Bah!  I  am  heartily  sick  and  tired  of  it  all," 
sighed  Dorothy.  "  If  I  were  rich  I'd  enter  a  con- 
vent and  devote  my  life  to  doing  good  ;  it  would 
not  be  the  same  going  in  empty-handed  ;  that 
would  be  too  much  like  seeking  a  refuge.  I  won- 
der if  it  is  as  St.  Augustine  says  :  *  Thou  hast 
made  us  for  Thyself,  and  the  heart  never  resteth 
till   it  findeth  rest  in  Thee.'      Has  God   denied 


J.- 


a^a 


no 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


mc  earthly  love  so  that  I  may  be  free  to  give  all 
to  Him?  If  it  be  so,  'show  me  the  way — guide 
me — teach  me — O  Lord.'  " 

Sliding  from  the  bed  she  knelt  on  the  floor,  her 
head  buried  in  her  hands,  and  prayed  with  childlike 
trust  that  He  who  clothes  the  lilies  of  the  field  and 
cr  ""s  for  the  sparrows  of  the  air  would  watch  over 
her — that  she  might  have  no  thought  nor  fear  for 
the  morrow.  **  Thy  will,  not  mine,  O  Lord,"  she 
sobbed.  As  she  prayed  a  wonderful  peace  and 
calm  seemed  to  descend  upon  her,  and  when  she 
rose  from  her  knees  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  cer- 
tainty that  He  who  dwelleth  in  heaven  had  heard 
her  from  His  dwelling-place. 

Undressing  she  went  to  bed,  and  slept  the 
quiet,  dreamless  sleep  of  a  tired  child. 


ii 


;  i 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Ill 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  I  am  always  content  with  that  which  happens,  for  I  think 
what  God  chooses  is  better  than  what  I  choose." — Epictetus. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  maid  brought  her 
coffee,  a  Httle  perfumed  note  in  a  rose-tinted  en- 
velope, with  a  crest  on  the  left-hand  corner,  lay 
upon  the  tray.  Dorothy  saw  it  with  apprehen- 
sion, fearing  lest  it  should  be  from  Comte  de  Gal- 
lerand  ;  but  a  nearer  inspection  showed  her  that 
the  address  was  in  a  lady's  hand.  Could  it  be  an 
answer  to  her  prayer?  she  queried.  The  only 
way  to  find  out  was  to  open  it ;  so  cutting  the 
envelope,  womanlike,  with  a  hairpin,  she  drew 
out  and  read  the  following : 


"  Mademoiselle  : 

"  I  desire  an  English  institutrice  for  my  son.  I 
see  you  yesterday  as  I  stop  my  carriage  in  face 
of  the  house  of  Madame  Carotte.  I  found  you 
charming,  your  visage  spiritticl  and  aiinahk.  I 
tell  Madame  I  will  have  no  other  young  lady 
but  you  ;  and  I  make  her  give  me  your  address. 
Now  I  will  be  very  please  to  see  you  at  my  Jiotcl 
to-day  after  dejeuner,  and  we  will  have  a  little  talk 


1-^ 


112 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


together.  If  it  is  impossible  to  you  to  come  to 
my  home,  you  will  write  to  me,  and  I  will  come 
home  to  you. 

"  I  hope,  mademoiselle,  you  will  understand  this, 
but  I  fear  you  will  have  very  much  to  do,  as  I 
make  haste  for  to  write. 

"  In  waiting  for  you  after  lunch  ; 
"  Think  me, 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

**  Suzanne  Nesvitsky." 

Enclosed  was  a  card. 


Prince ssc  Ivan  Nesvitsky, 


Hotel  Nesvitsky,  Pare  Monceau. 


How  happy  and  light-hearted  Dorothy  was  all  in 
a  moment! — something,  she  thought,  as  Christian 
must  have  felt  when  the  burden  rolled  from  his 
shoulders  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  She  had  heard 
people  say  that  answers  to  prayer,  like  miracles, 
have  had  their  day.  Let  them  scoff,  she  would 
never  doubt  that  a  fervent,  earnest  prayer,  with 
faith,  would  be  answered.  God  had  heard  her 
and  sent  her  help. 


KERCHIEl'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


"3 


That  morning,  as  the  clock  was  striking  one, 
Dorothy  rang  the  bell  at  a  small  but  beautiful 
house  overlooking  Pare  Monceau.  The  grande 
parte  cochcre  noiselessly  turned  on  its  hinges, 
opened  by  an  unseen  hand,  and  admitted  her  to  a 
courtyard  laid  out  as  a  garden  a  r Anglnisc,  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  a  fountain.  Every  here 
and  there  along  the  walks  were  tropical  shrubs, 
and  orange  trees  in  great  green  wooden  tubs; 
plants  were  also  on  the  steps  leading  to  the  front 
door.  Here  an  obsequious  valet  met  her,  and 
showed  her  into  a  small  reception-room  on  the 
left  of  the  door. 

In  a  few  moments  the  princess  entered,  re- 
minding Dorothy  of  the  Italian  whom  Goldoni 
praised  so  highly  in  the  last  century,  **  biancay 
biondina^  e  grassotta'' ;  in  other  words,  a  showy 
woman,  fair,  fat,  blonde,  and  of  any  age.  She 
once  might  have  been  beautiful,  but  she  was  now 
too  golden-haired  to  be  natural,  too  powdered  to 
be  kissable,  and  too  fat  to  be  healthy  ;  perhaps 
her  gown,  a  loose  robe  de  cJiambrc,  had  the  effect 
of  making  her  seem  larger  than  she  really  was. 
"  Her  fingers  are  loaded  with  rings,  and  che  we?.rs 
diamond  earrings  in  the  morning,"  mentally  com- 
mented Dorothy.  Her  manner,  a  trifle  loud 
perhaps,  was  yet  so  cordial  and  motherly  that 
Dorothy  felt  instantly  drawn  to  her. 

During  the  interview,  the  princess  repeated  and 
8 


114 


KERCH  IE  IS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


enlarged  upon  what  she  had  written  :  how  that  she 
was  just  going  to  call  upon  Madame  Carotte  to  ask 
her  to  recommend  a  professcur  d' Anglais  for  her 
son,  wr//jshe  saw  "mademoiselle  coming  out,  so 
sad,  si  tristc,  si  jolic^'  that  she  determined  to  have 
her  and  no  other. 

"  Madame  Carotte  said  you  were  trap  fitn\ 
and  would  never  suit  me,  and  urged  me  to 
take  some  other  young  girl,  but  I  said,  '  No, 
only  mademoiselle  for  me;*  and  you  will  come, 
you  will  teach  your  own  language  but  one  little 
half-hour  a  day,  and  you  will  see  that  my  son 
prepare  well  his  lessons  for  his  cours.  He  at- 
tends the  Lycde  Janscn,  and  must  leave  the  house 
every  morning  at  nine.  Daniel,  my  mattre  d'hStel, 
will  go  with  him,  but  you  and  I  will  go  to  fetch 
him  in  the  afternoon  in  the  carriage,  when  we  will 
drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  we  will  talk 
English,  for  I  love  English.  I  have  passed  many 
happy  years  in  Angleterre.  htes-voiis  contentc, 
mademoiselle  ?  As  for  les  honoraires^  I  will  pay 
you  what  you  will.  You  will  have  your  own 
apartments,  mademoiselle,  next  those  of  my  son, 
and  you  will  take  your  meals  there  with  him, 
because  I  dine  out  very  often ;  but  when  I  have 
distinguished  guests  you  will  dine  with  us,  if  you 
please.  I  shall  take  you  from  time  to  time  to  the 
theatre,  and  you  will  go  when  you  will  please  with 
Alexis  to  visit  the  Mus^e  and  the  monuments; 


i 


( 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


"S 


and  you  will  iiavc  all  the  other  time  to  promenade 
yourself  and  to  make  a  little  work.  /://  /;/<//,  are 
you  content,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

Upon  Dorothy  assuring  her  that  she  was  per- 
fectly content,  the  princess  added:  "There  is 
only  one  little  favor  I  will  ask  of  you  :  I  am  en 
di'uil,  you  may  havi  observed  ;  I  have  made  a 
vow  to  carry  the  dcui  until  my  son  is  twenty-one 
years.  Now,  mademoiselle,  you  are  very  aiinahh'  ; 
will  you  carry  the  (fcuil  also?  and  I  will  chari^e 
myself  with  your  toilette  if  you  will  do  me  this 
one  little  favor." 

Upon  Dorothy  consenting  it  was  arranged  that 
she  should  enter  upon  her  duties  the  following 
Monday,  and  as  the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  the 
princess  asked  if  she  could  accompany  her  then 
c/ica  Felix  and  Madame  Pelletier-Vidal,  to  have 
her  measure  taken  so  that  the  costumes  might  be 
ready  when  she  arrived. 

Dorothy  agreed  to  everything.  "  I  have  put 
my  hand  to  the  plough,  and  will  not  turn  back 
unless  it  is  a  matter  of  conscience;  time  enough 
to  take  a  stand  then,"  she  mused.  "The  princess 
is  Russian,  rich,  and  eccentric — what  they  call 
nowadays  a  paranoiac.  A  fad  is  meat  and  drink 
to  her;  that  is  why  she  wants  me  to  dress  in  half- 
mourning.  Undoubtedly  I  shall  have  to  make  up 
my  mind  for  the  unexpected  here." 

The  next  few  days  passed  quickly,  and  on  the 


1 


mmmmm 


■[■■ti.-yjgE; 


mmm 


-Ji' 


ii6 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


following  Monday  Dorothy  took  up  her  abode  in 
the  Princess  Nesvitsky's  kixurious  hotel.  Her 
own  apartments  were  in  the  left  wing,  some  dis- 
tance from  the  princess's,  but  adjoining  those  of  her 
pupil,  Prince  Alexis  Nesvitsky.  They  comprised 
a  large,  well-furnished  room,  used  jointly  by  herself 
and  Alexis  as  a  study  and  salon.  Next  was  a 
pretty  little  dining-room,  out  of  which  opened  her 
own  particular  bi>udoir,  octagonal  in  shape,  with 
two  large  windows  overlooking  the  park.  A  private 
staircase  led  to  her  bed  and  dressing-rooms,  which 
were  above  the  two  rooms  last  mentioned.  All 
were  handsomely  furnished  in  the  French  fashion 
— polished  floors,  rugs,  innumerable  mirrors, plants 
and  flowers  everywhere,  the  furniture  of  each 
room  blending  in  color  with  the  hangings  on  the 
wall,  and  the  boudoir  being  a  mass  of  shrimp  silk, 
the  bedroom  white  cretonne  with  pmk  rosebuds. 
Everything  was  fresh  and  gay,  what  the  French  call 
riant,  though  somewhat  too  loud  and  garish  to 
suit  Dorothy's  quiet  taste.  One  side  of  the  dining- 
room  was  filled  with  books,  which  she  promised 
herself  the  pleasure  of  dipping  into  on  the  first 
opportunity. 

The  princess  had  come  to  the  door  to  welcome 
her,  and  was  even  kinder,  more  motherly  and 
gushing  than  at  their  first  interview  ;  her  delight 
seemed  genuine  at  the  pleasure  she  was  sure 
Dorothy  would  take  at  the  new  toilets  she  had 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


117 


i 


' 


prepared  for  her.  Had  the  latter  not  been 
pleased  she  would  have  been  careful  not  to  show 
indifference,  and  put  a  damper  upon  the  princess's 
enthusiasm.  As  it  was,  she  tried  on,  one  after 
another,  the  various  hats  and  frocks,  like  the  most 
obedient  French  daughter,  making  believe  to  her- 
self she  was  only  sixteen,  not  twenty-eight.  The 
princess's  fcuimc  dc  chainbri\  Marie,  who  helped 
her  off  and  on  with  the  garments,  was  Russian, 
and  as  she  spoke  French  badly,  her  mistress  con- 
versed with  her  in  her  native  tongue.  Naturally, 
Dorothy  did  not  understand  a  word  of  what  they 
said,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  their  expression 
of  admiration  ;  it  was  almost  ludicrous,  as  they 
clasped  their  hands  in  ecstasy  over  each  successive 
costume.  When  she  was  arrayed  in  a  white-silk 
dinner  dress  the  princess  cried,  "  Vous  i^tcs  ravis- 
sante,  suprrbe,"  etc.,  and  Marie  smoothed,  patted, 
and  pawed  her  over  as  if  she  were  a  little  kitten. 
On  the  whole,  Dorothy  was  quite  content  with 
herself,  as  she  surveyed  her  graceful  figure  in  the 
long  triple  mirror.  "  Fine  dresses  make  fine 
birds,"  she  confessed. 

Having  understood  that  she  was  to  wear  black, 
she  was  not  a  little  relieved  and  delighted  to  find 
that  out  of  the  half-dozen  toilets  the  princess 
had  ordered,  only  two  were  of  that  sombre  hue, 
one  a  delicate  lace,  the  other  a  rich  black  velvet 
walking  dress,  trimmed  with  fur.     They  all  fitted 


iiS 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


like  a  glove,  and  Dorothy,  who  had  seldom  worn 
white  before,  on  account  of  its  costliness,  was  very 
much  surprised  to  see  how  becoming  it  was  to  her. 
As  she  stood  there  the  thought  came,  "  If  Hany 
s;;w  me  now,  would  he  love  me  as  I  want  to  be 
1  ived — passionately  ?  " 

Setting  aside  the  black  velvet  costume,  a  large 
white  hat,  white  fur  boa  and  muff,  the  princess 
asked  her  if  she  would  wear  them  that  afternoon 
when  they  drove  in  the  Bois — which  she  did, 
feeling  somewhat  though,  when  dressed,  as  if,  in 
taking  the  princess's  livery,  she  had  lost  her  own 
individuality ;  that  she,  Dorothy  Pembroke,  who 
had  made  such  a  point  of  having  her  liberty,  was 
vanquished,  annihilated.  "  I  wonder  what  Harry 
Alexander  would  say  to  all  this  ?  "  the  thought  kept 
continually  repeating  itself  ;  which  set  her  conjec- 
turing. Was  this  only  a  fad  of  the  princess's,  this 
wanting  her  to  dress  in  black  and  white?  or  was 
she  making  a  tool  of  her  for  some  reason  ?  Then 
she  recalled  the  black  horses  and  carriage,  the  sable 
livery  of  coachman  and  groom,  the  mourning  habil- 
iments of  the  princess  and  son.  No,  it  could  not 
be  that.  Perhaps  gay  colors  would  be  out  of 
place  here,  and  the  lesthetic  taste  or  fine  sense 
of  propriety  of  the  princess  shocked  ;  at  all  events, 
it  was  an  innocent  whim,  and  why  should  she  not 
fall  in  with  it  ? 

Weeks  passed  quickly  and  pleasantly  ;  it  was  a 


/    ': 


\      'f? 


'* 


.M 


1 


\ « 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


119 


lazy,  luxurious  life  she  was  leading,  but  it  suited 
Dorothy.  She  needed  a  breathing-space.  Thus 
far  she  had  lived  at  high  pressure,  and  it  is  just  as 
well  now  and  then  to  let  off  a  little  jteam,  pause, 
and  think  in  the  race  of  life.    • 

The  princess  continued  to  be  the  same  good- 
natured  enthusiast  she  had  shown  herself  at  first. 
Dorothy  seldom  saw  her  except  at  their  daily 
drive ;  then  she  talked  a  good  deal,  and  on  several 
occasions  gave  Dorothy  glimpses  of  her  past  life. 
She  was  French,of  humble  origin,  Prince  Nesvitsky 
having  fallen  in  love  with  her  when  she  was  singing 
in  opera  at  St.  Petersburg.  His  family  had  never 
acknowledged  her,  and  she  had  no  living  relations 
of  her  own  ;  which  facts  accounted  for  much  that 
had  perplexed  Dorothy,  notably  that  she  had  so 
few  women,  and  such  troops  of  men,  friends.  She 
kept  her  promise  of  asking  Dorothy  to  dinner 
when  she  had  distinguished  guests.  The  company 
often  included  men  well  known  in  the  world, 
such  as  General  Boulanger — but,  though  the 
opportunity  is  tempting  to  introduce  each  one  in 
turn,  I  must  remember  that  the  repast  was  .f7^<^  r<?Jrt, 
and  refrain.  The  only  things  that  Dorothy  re- 
marked as  differing  from  the  usual  English  society 
party,  were  that  coffee  was  served  in  the  dining- 
room  rather  than  in  the  drawing-room,  that  the 
men  smoked  all  over  the  house,  and  that  the 
princess  always  had  her  cigarette  too.  Dinner  over, 


l^;=l 


f  20 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


the  latter,  accompanied  by  one  or  two  of  the  men, 
went  to  the  theatre  or  some  other  place  of  amuse- 
ment, and  Dorothy  sought  the  privacy  of  her  own 
apartment. 

At  a  second  party,  some  ten  days  after  her 
arrival,  whom  should  Dorothy  see  on  entering  the 
salon  but  the  ubiquitous  Comtede  Gallerand  chat- 
ting with  the  princess,  and  looking  handsomer  than 
ever  in  his  evening  dress.  When  he  caught  sight 
of  her  he  rose,  rushed  forward,  exclaiming,  as  he 
seized  her  hand  : 

"  You  here,  of  all  places,  mademoiselle  !  "  then 
turning  to  his  hostess,  demanded  in  his  impetuous 
way,  "  Mon  Dicii !  how  did  you  ever  know  Miss 
Pembroke  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  she  was 
staying  with  you  ?  How  long  has  she  been 
here  ?  "  etc.,  etc. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  was  ex- 
plaining that  he  and  Miss  Pembroke  were  old 
friends,  when  the  door  was  thrown  open  and 
Daniel  announced,  "  Madame  la  Princesse  est 
serviy 

Then  all  filed  out  to  the  dining-room,  Dorothy 
falling  to  the  lot  of  an  old  hidalgo,  with  an  end- 
less string  of  names  and  titles  in  the  grandilo- 
quent Spanish  style,  though  familiarly  called  Don 
Estoracho  by  the  princess  and  ^^  bon  anW  by 
Alexis.  She  had  been  introduced  to  him  on  the 
very  first  day  of  her  arrival  at  Hotel  Nesvitsky, 


1-, 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


121 


and  was  then  not  a  little  annoyed  by  the  way  in 
which  he  came  close  up  to  her,  raised  his  eye- 
glass, and  deliberately  scrutini  ed  her  from  head 
to  foot  in  a  most  supercilious  manner.  She  par- 
tially forgave  him,  however,  when  the  princess  told 
her  that  Don  Estoracho,  who  was  attached  to 
Queen  Isabella's  household,  found  her  *'  trcs  bicn 
devdc^'  which  Dorothy  thought  fortunate,  for 
being  a  constant  habitu^  of  the  house,  it  might  have 
been  awkward  for  her,  to  say  the  least,  had  he  not 
found  her  covune  il  faut. 

The  dinner  passed  without  incident.  Comtede 
Gallerand  found  an  opportunity,  however,  while 
the  princess  was  putting  on  her  opera-cloak,  to 
whisper  to  Dorothy  that  he  had  been  almost  be- 
side himself  since  their  last  interview  ;  that  he 
had  spent  hours  every  day  walking  up  and  down 
in  front  of  her  pension  ;  that  several  times  he 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  in  the  dis.  ince,  but 
would  not  intrude  after  what  had  passed  between 
them  ;  that  he  was  delighted  to  have  met  her 
here ;  now  everything  would  be  on  a  different 
footing;  would  she  absolve  him  from  his  pro- 
mise, and  let  him  prove  to  her  what  a  good  friend 
he  could  be  ? 

Dorothy  laughingly  consented  to  give  him  an- 
other trial  ;  then,  as  the  princess  reappeared,  she 
slipped  off  to  her  own  quarters  for  a  quiet  even- 
ing with  her  pupil. 


\   -M 


If 


i: 


122 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  And  what  must  I  perform  in  recompense  ?  " 

Mephistophelcs — "  For  that  you  have  a  long,  long  respite." 
"  Nay,  nay, — answer  me.     The  devil  is  an  egotist,  and  ne'er  does 
good  to  others  for  the  love  of  God." — Goethe. 

"  For  while  the  wheel  of  birth  and  death  turns  round. 
Past  things  and  thoughts  and  buried  lives  come  back. 

— Edwin  Arnold. 

Dorothy  had  been  several  times  to  the  Comedie 
Fran^aise,  where  the  Coquelins  were  playing ; 
more  than  once  to  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  where 
the  divine  Sara  was  drawing  crowds  nightly  ;  also 
to  the  Varietes ;  even  to  the  Chatelet,  where 
"  Le  Chat  du  Diable'  ("  VVhittington  and  His  Cat") 
was  the  attraction ;  but  not  yet  to  the  Grand 
Opera.  However,  one  evening,  as  she  and  Alexis 
were  lingering  over  their  dessert,  the  princess 
burst  in  upon  them  with,  **  Vitt\  vite,  mademoiselle  ; 
you  will  like  to  come  with  me  this  evening  to  the 
opera,  will  you  not  ?  " 

Upon  Dorothy  joyfully  accepting,  she  cried, 
^^  Ddpcchons  nous;  I  will  go  fetch  ma  fcmme  de 
chambre  to  assist  you  with  your  toilette ;  a  sur- 
prise I  have  made  for  you,  vioti  amie^ 

Dorothy  was  no  time  in  getting  into  the  ex- 


\\ 


k 


I . 


» 


^N 


\1 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


123 


f 

i  * 


I' 


quisite  silk-and-lace  frock  the  princess  had  ordered 
for  the  occasion.  The  latter,  after  critically  sur- 
veying Jier,  exclaimed,  "  You  are  cold  coimtie  la 
giaic,  ma  belle ;  you  will  need  a  dash  of  color," 
then  rushed  impetuously  off  to  fetch  her  jewel- 
case,  from  which  she  drew  a  magnificent  topaz 
necklace,  exclaiming,  as  she  held  it  up,  *'  Pour  voiis, 
inadevtoiselle.  It  is  the  finishing  touch  your  toilette 
needs;  they  will  go  well  with  your  bouquet  of 
yellow  roses,  ma  chtre.'"  Dorothy  refused  to 
accept  anything  so  costly,  but  at  last  consented 
to  wear  them  this  once  to  please  the  princess, 
who,  having  wound  them  like  a  dog-collar  round 
her  neck,  would  not  hear  of  her  taking  them  off. 
The  opera  that  night  was  Gounod's  '*  Faust," 
and  the  prima-donna  an  American.  They  arrived 
early,  in  time  to  get  seated  before  the  overture 
began.  It  was  the  first  time  Dorothy  had  been 
in  the  beautiful  building,  and  all  was  so  new  and 
strange  that  she  did  not  notice  she  was  placed  in 
the  front  of  the  box,  while  the  princess  and  Don 
Estoracho  sat  a  little  back  ;  she  only  knew  it  was 
a  good  position  to  see  and  hear  from,  never 
dreaming  that  any  one  might  find  her  more  at- 
tractive than  the  stage.  She  thought  the  house 
magnificent,  even  the  curtain  beautiful  ;  but  when 
it  rose,  from  that  moment  to  the  end  of  the  first 
act  she  saw  nothing  but  the  scene  before  her,  and 
lived  only  in  the  characters  there  portrayed.     In 


ill 


124 


KEKCIIIEI'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


the  third  act  Faust  took  her  heart  by  storm 
as  he  sanj^  those  exquisite  love  strains  to  Mar- 
guerite, looking  an  ideal  lover  in  his  velvet  mantle 
and  cap. 

During  the  entr'actes  she  drew  back  into  the 
corner  of  the  box,  closed  her  eyes,  and  went  over 
it  all  again.  "  Faust  "  appealed  to  her  at  that 
time  as  no  other  opera  could  have  done.  It  was 
realistic  to  a  degree.  In  the  long  scene  of  the 
third  act  it  was  not  the  fortunes  of  Marguerite 
she  followed  with  bated  breath,  but  those  of 
Dorothy  Pembroke.  Faust  sold  himself  to 
Mephistopheles ;  Marguerite  sold  herself  to 
Faust — for  what  ?  For  the  fascinations  of  love. 
Then  came  the  startling  thought,  was  she  doing 
the  same  ?  Was  she  bargaining  with  the  devil  ? 
Had  she  not  refused  a  true,  loyal  friendship  and  a 
sphere  of  usefulness  for  this  same  chimera — love? 
Had  she  already  sold  herself?  No,  no!  the  love 
for  which  she  longed  and  sought  was  heaven- 
born,  not  of  the  earth,  earthy,  like  poor  Mar- 
guerite's. 

When  the  curtain  fell  for  the  third  time  her 
thoughts  were  soaring  far  away  from  the  scene 
before  her.  People  entered  the  loge,  paid  their 
respects  to  the  princess,  and  left  without  Dorothy 
observing  them,  so  absorbed  was  she.  At  last 
she  became  aware  of  someone  speaking  to  her, 
calling  her  out  of  dreamland  almost  against  her 


l 


'; 


(i 


\ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


125 


will.  Opening  her  eyes  she  saw,  without  the  least 
surprise,  Count  de  Gallerand  by  her  side. 

"  At  last  her  Majesty  has  condescended  to  come 
down  from  the  clouds  and  glance  at  the  dog  at 
her  feet.' ■ 

"  Oh !  Count  de  Gallerand,  is  it  you  ?  Why 
did  you  call  me  back?  It  was  so  beautiful.  Was 
not  Marguerite  heavenly  ?  " 

"J/rt  foi!  a  very  substantial  angel;  perhaps 
a  Turk's  ideal.  Mon  angc  is  something  more 
ethereal.  Do  you  know,  mademoiselle,  a  lot 
of  men  have  found  you  very  heavenly  to-night, 
and  have  come  to  the  box  to  be  presented,  but 
the  princess  would  not  disturb  you  for  any  one 
of  them  ?  She  is  a  veritable  dn.gon  where  you 
are  concerned.  She  permitted  me,  however,  as  I 
am  an  old  acquaintance,  to  guard  you  while  she 
took  a  little  respite." 

"  Oh  !  where  is  the  princess  now  ?  "  said  Dorothy 
quickly,  afraid  of — she  scarce  knew  what. 

"  N' ayez  pas  pair,  mademoiselle  ;  she's  in  the 
foyer ;  we'll  promenade  there  next  entr'acte ;  it 
is  too  late  this  time." 

"  Thanks,  monsieur,  but  I  prefer  remaining 
here  and  going  over  the  libretto  by  myself ;  don't 
you  think  it  is  well  put  on  to-night?" 

"  Assez  bien,  all  but  the  second  act ;  il  a  trains 
iin  pen  ;  ^a  se  tasse." 

"  And  doesn't  Marguerite  sing  divinely  ?  "  said 
Dorothy. 


f — 


r 


126 


KERCHIEF'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


**  Yes,  she  has  a  beautiful  voice.  Rn  passant, 
did  you  ever  hear  the  Princess  Ncsvitsky  sing?" 

"  No,  never,  though  she  has  promised  to  sing 
for  me  some  day." 

"We  will  get  her  to  give  us  a  musicalc;  she 
knows  all  the  great  singers.  It  is  a  chance, 
mademoiselle,  my  seeing  you  alone  to-night,  that 
I  am  going  to  improve,  and  urge  you  to  give  me 
a  sitting  for  my  picture  for  the  next  salon." 

•*  That  I  shall  never  do.  Count  dc  Gallcrand." 

"Will  you  not?  well  it  does  not  so  much  mat- 
ter, for,  fortunately,  I  have  now  a  pretty  good 
sketch." 

"A  picture?  a  likeness  of  me?"  Dorothy  ex- 
claimed, opening  her  eyes  to  their  full  extent  in 
growing  anger. 

^^  Mais  St,  of  yon,  ma  fitre  Anglaisc^'  laughed 
the  count,  as  he  twirled  his  long  moustache. 
"  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  Any  criticism  you 
may  have  to  offer  will  be  gratefully  received." 

With  that  he  brought  from  the  back  of  the  loge 
a  portfolio,  and  triumphantly  drew  out  a  paper 
upon  which  Dorothy  saw  an  idealized  charcoal 
sketch  of  herself. 

"  How  dare  you  do  that,  Count  de  Gallerand  ?  " 
she  freezingly  said,  as  he  exultingly  displayed  it. 

"  You  know  my  motto,  *  All  is  fair  in  love,'  ma 
belle  Anglaisey 

"  There  is  no  love  in  the  matter,  I  would  have 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


127 


you    know,   Count  de   Gallerand,"   Dorothy  said 
with  fire  in  her  eyes.     "  I  despise  you." 

"  Mcrci,  mademoiselle  ;  I  was  afraid  you  were 
^oing  to  say  you  were  indifferent  to  me,"  the 
count  rejoined  with  mocking  audacity.  "  It's 
another  affair  now.  War  has  been  declared — war 
to  the  knife,  in  which  all  is  equally  fair  as  in  love. 
li/t  bien  !  mademoiselle,  had  you  been  aimablc, 
and  prettily  asked  me  for  the  picture  instead  of 
getting  into  a  rage,  I  might  have  been  soft  enough 
to  have  given  it  to  you.  Now  I  shall  keep  it,  and 
send  it  to  the  salon  as  Psyche.  A  propos  of  that, 
mademoiselle,  do  you  know  you  are  and  always 
will  be  Psyche  to  me  ?  It  is  singular  with  what 
different  eyes  we  artists  look  at  things  from  other 
people.  Every  woman  who  makes  a  permanent  im- 
pression upon  an  artist  is  ever  afterwards  recalled 
to  his  mind's  eye  as  she  appeared  in  that  particular 
scene.  Your  image  was  indelibly  stamped  upon 
my  memory,  brain,  heart,  or  what  you  will,  at  our 
first  rencontre,  when,  drawing  back  so  proudly, 
you  haughtily  uttered  those  magic  words,  *  Jc  suis 
Anglaise'  Sapristi !  You  English  seem  to  think 
because  you  are  English  you  have  a  right  to  walk 
over  the  rest  of  us  peoples,  crushing  us  like  the 
car  of  Juggernaut.  For  the  life  of  me  I  can't  tell 
what  it  was  that  made  me  turn  and  flee  that  day  ; 
perhaps  because  you  looked  at  me  in  that  inno- 
cent way  you  have.     En  passant,  why  did  you  not 


\\ 


II 


I, 


ia8 


KERCJJIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


look  at  the  other  fellow?  Paul  ^ot  off  without  a 
scratch.  You  awakened  mc  then  to  life  or  death, 
and  no  words  of  yours  now  can  undo  the  deed.  I 
am  going  to  call  you  Psyche  whether  you  like  it 
or  not.  Psyche  you  are  to  me,  mademoiselle,  and 
I'll  awaken  your  soul  if  you  have  one,"  he  savagely, 
almost  brutally,  exclaimed. 

As  Dorothy  listened  there  came  over  her  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  a  fear,  a  fatalistic  feeling, 
that,  struggle  as  she  would,  it  wouUl  be  of  no  use; 
opposition  would  only  make  it  worse  ;  better  for 
her  to  seem  to  yield.  So,  looking  up  as  indiffer- 
ently as  she  could,  she  said  : 

"  Well,  there's  no  great  harm  done.  You've 
got  the  better  of  mc.  Count  de  Gallerand.  I 
would  prefer  n.jt  having  my  picture  in  the  salon  ; 
but  we  won't  quarrel ;  I  understand  that  such  a 
thing  as  friendship  between  an  unmarried  man 
and  woman  is  unheard  of  in  I'rance,  or  I  should 
ask  you,  Count  de  Gallerand,  to  be  my  friend  in 
the  English  sense  of  the  word." 

"  I  would  be  something  more  than  a  friend, 
Psyche,"  he  whispered,  drawing  his  chair  close  to 
hers,  and  looking  at  her  with  that  intense  gaze 
she  had  several  times  before  encountered  and 
always  dreaded. 

Dorothy  was  cornered  ;  there  was  no  way  of 
escape,  so  she  replied,  rather  cruelly  perhaps : 

"  I  was  a  fool  to  talk  of  friendship  to  you,  Count 


KEKCfUF.FS  TO  HUXT  SOULS. 


129 


de  Gallcrand.  It  is  a  sentiment  far  above  you  ;  in 
fact,  beyond  the  comprehension  of  any  Frencii- 
man.  You  don't  know  the  a  b  c  of  its  lanp^uapje. 
You  materialize  everytliing  ;  hatred,  anjjjer,  love, 
jealousy,  friendship — all  are  with  you,  not  passions 
of  the  soul,  but  passions  of  the  body." 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle,  but  do  you  think  you 
have  seen  enough  of  French  character  to  judj^c 
us  in  this  sweeping  way  ?  I  grant  we  are  very 
different  from  your  compatriots.  We  are  more 
spirituch,  have  more  sentiment  ;  it  would  be 
impossible  for  us  to  form  a  phlegmatic  friendship 
such  as  you  mention  as  common  among  matter- 
of-fact  Englishmen.  We  are  extremists.  We 
either  love  or  hate.  There  is  no  medium  in  our 
intimacies.  Yours  very  often  begin  or  end  with 
a  flirtation.  Both  parties  amuse  themselves,  play 
at  love  and  with  love,  but  neither  is  wounded. 
We  have  ingrafted  the  word  flirtcr  into  our  lan- 
guage, but  we  do  not  know  how  to  flirt.  We  are 
too  vifs.  Even  when  in  earnest,  you  Anglo-Saxons 
prefer  to  flirt,  and  play  with  your  victim  like  the 
cat  with  the  bird  before  killing  it." 

As  he  spoke  the  princess  returned,  and  the  cur- 
tain rose  on  the  fourth  act.  At  first  Dorothy 
thought  Count  de  Gallerand  had  spoilt  the  even- 
ing for  her,  and  that  she  would  not  again  lose 
herself  in  the  play,  but  she  was  mistaken.  The 
scene  represented  the  interior  of  an  old  cathedral, 


,i 


130 


KERCniEIS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


all  in  a  blaze  of  light  ;  candles  burning  upon  the 
altar  ;  priests  and  acolytes  in  gorgeous  robes 
standing  before  it  ;  kneeling  peasants  filled  the 
nave  ;  then,  as  the  organ  strikes  up  a  fugue,  poor 
Marguerite  steals  in,  and  kneels  to  pray,  but  a 
voice  is  heard  telling  her  there  is  no  refuge  on 
earth,  or  in  heaven,  for  such  as  she  ;  as  the  voice 
speaks  she  gives  a  shriek,  and  falls  senseless  upon 
the  floor.  The  organ  takes  up  the  fugue  again,  and 
the  curtain  drops.  The  contrast  between  this  and 
the  other  acts  is  very  effective  ;  the  first  were  all 
w  orldly  love  passion,  and  gayety ;  this  was  contri- 
tion, remorse,  and  religious  pomp  and  exaltation. 

In  the  last  act  Marguerite,  in  prison,  is  hav- 
ing her  punishment  in  this  world — reaping  her 
wild  oats.  But  all  is  not  yet  over ;  another 
temptation  is  still  in  store  for  her,  another  battle 
yet  to  be  fought.  Faust  and  Mephistopheles 
come  to  tempt  her.  She  hardly  knows  what  to 
do.  She  has  almost  decided  to  go  with  them, 
when  she  sees  her  innocent  youth  in  a  vision. 
They  keep  urging  her,  and  even  try  to  drag  her 
along  with  them,  but  she  breaks  from  them,  and 
crying,  "  To  Thee,  O  God,  belongs  my  soul,"  falls 
down  dead  upon  her  pallet. 

The  mental  excitement  Dorothy  felt  at  this  sad 
scene  almost  overcame  her  ;  tears  filled  her  eyes, 
and  she  could  hardly  keep  from  sobbing  ;  it  was' 
so  real  to  her  that  the  strain  upon  her  emotions 


II 


■  --"  -"--' T"   '^•' 


i 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


'31 


was  terrible.  Finally,  when  Marguerite  was  caught 
up  and  borne  to  heaven  by  the  four  beautiful 
angels  clad  in  diaphanous  sunset  clouds,  the  relief 
was  immense. 

As  they  were  standing  in  the  vestibule,  at  the 
foot  of  the  white  marble  staircase,  waiting  for 
their  carriage,  Count  de  Gallerand,  turning  to  the 
princess,  said  :  "  Madame,  Miss  Pembroke  tells 
me  she  has  never  heard  you  sing  ;  will  you  not 
give  us  a  musicale  next  Sunday  ?  " 

*'  With  pleasure,  monsieur  ;  but  mademoiselle 
will  not  assist,  she  is  much  too  pious." 

"  Why,  mademoiselle,  you  do  not  object  to 
music  on  Sunday  ?  Le  bon  Dicu  will  surely  per- 
mit you  that  little  divertissement ^ 

"  I  do  not  object  to  sacred  music  on  that  day, 
monsieur,  but  I  do  object  to  Sunday  parties  of  all 
kinds  ;  in  a  word,  my  Church  forbids  it." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  leave  your  Church  at 
home,  mademoiselle,  as  the  rest  of  your  nation 
do  when  they  come  abroad  ?  Do  you  know,  you 
are  a  most  difficult  person  to  entertain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  well  aware  of  it,"  she  laughingly 
assented. 

*'  Jllais,  tout  de  inane,  je  vous  troiivc  ravissante 
dans  votre  robe  de  dentelles  blanehes  aneiennes,'"  he 
whispered,  as  he  helped  her  into  the  carriage 


II 


132 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

O,  la  belle  statue  !     Oh,  le  beau  pedestal ! 
Les  vertus  sont  a  pied,  le  vice  est  k  cheval !  " 

When  Dorothy  found  that  Count  de  Gallerand, 
who  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  house,  was  always 
included  among  the  dinner-guests,  she  invariably 
invented  an  excuse  for  not  joining  them  ;  but  he, 
as  usual,  was  irrepressible.  One  evening,  when 
she  had  pleaded  a  severe  headache,  he  pressed  the 
princess  into  his  service,  and  with  his  habitual 
audacity  besieged  her  in  her  own  fortress.  After 
that,  if  she  did  not  put  in  an  appearance,  he  knew 
where  to  find  her.  As  he  was  amusing  and  origi- 
nal, Dorothy  liked  him  in  spite  of  herself,  and 
would  have  missed  him  sadly  had  he  not  come  ; 
in  fact,  she  was  continually  in  fear  that  he  would 
throw  her  over  for  a  later  fancy. 

The  talked-of  concert,  though  often  deferred, 
at  last  came  off.  It  happened  when  Von  Biilow 
was  in  Paris.  He  and  the  princess  were  old 
friends.  Dorothy  had  never  before  heard  a  great 
virtuoso  off  the  stage,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  was  near  enough  to  watch  the  expression 
of  the  performer's  emotions.     Von  Billow's  face 


\ 


) 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


m 


• 


was  a  studj  He  gazed  about  him  while  he  was 
playing  with  a  proud,  supercilious  bearing,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Did  you  ever  hear  Beethoven 
played  like  this  before  ? "  Of  course  Dorothy 
never  had,  and  was  thrilled  through  and  through 
in  ecstasy.  She  also  noticed  that  the  others — 
even  the  musicians — present  seemed  no  less  im- 
pressed, either  by  it  or  his  magnetic  power.  The 
princess  sang  beautifully.  Her  voice,  a  contralto, 
was  not  remarkable  ;  one  hears  such  voices  often  ; 
but  it  was  well  trained,  and  she  managed  it  per- 
fectly. She  sang  Frenc^  audeville  songs  as  only 
a  Frenchwoman  can  sing  them  ;  every  word  has 
a  meaning,  and  one  must  know  the  finesse  of  the 
language  to  understand  them. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  evening,  when  Von 
Biilow  and  several  other  musicians  had  taken  their 
leave.  Count  de  Gallerand  sat  down  to  the  piano, 
and  to  Dorothy's  amazement  rattled  off  piece 
after  piece  with  all  the  abandon  of  a  musical 
genius,  reminding  her  of  Gottschalk  when  he 
played  that  weird  composition,  "  The  Banjo  ;  " 
and  all  the  while  tossing  his  curly  head,  laughing 
and  talking,  and  everybody  else  talking  and  laugh- 
ing with  him. 

^^ Ah  del!  il  racle  avec  entrain!''  exclaimed 
Don  Estoracho. 

"Truly,  he's  2iX\ enfant gdtd,''  Dorothy  thought, 
"  and  I   shall  end   by   spoiling    him  just   as  the 


134 


KRRCIIIRFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


others  do.  All  the  shortcomings  of  audacity  and 
genius  are  overlooked  here  :  everyone  seems  to 
be  in  love  with  these  great  artists — except  their 
wives.  Fancy  Von  Biilow's  leaving  him  for  Wag- 
ner !  Singing  and  crying,  love  and  hate,  are  very 
nearly  related  in  the  world  of  Boheme,  I  find." 

So  completely  was  Dorothy  won  over  by  Count 
de  Gallerand's  playing,  that  when  he  left  the 
piano  and  threw  himself  in  a  careless  attitude  in 
a  chair  at  her  side,  had  he  asked  a  favor  of  her 
then,  "even  to  the  half  of  her  kingdom,"  she 
would  have  granted  it.  But  he  took  no  advantage 
of  his  victory,  and  the  moment  passed.  When 
next  they  met  Dorothy  was  her  well-balanced  self. 

That  same  week,  as  they  were  taking  their 
afternoon  drive,  the  princess  remarked  :  "  A  propos 
de  rien,  Count  de  Gallerand  has  engaged  me, 
mademoiselle,  to  persuade  you  to  visit  him  at  his 
atelier;  will  you  go  there  to-morrow  with  me?" 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  cannot ;  I  have  already  re- 
fused several  urgent  invitations  from  the  count, 
so  pray  do  not  insist  upon  it,  dear  madame." 

"  Why  not,  mademoiselle  ?  it  is  quite  the  cor- 
rect thing ;  many  ladies  of  the  grand  moudc 
think  it  a  privilege  to  visit  the  studios  and  get 
a  glimpse  of  the  pictures  before  they  are  exposed 
at  the  salons." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  I  had  rather  not  go  to  Count 
de  Gallerand's." 


i  i 


I 


'  i 


i 


i} 


KKRCnil'FS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


^35 


i    , 


\  \ 


*  4 


**  You  are  prejudiced  against  the  count,  vion 
auiic ;  wliy,  I  know  not,  for  he  is  tin  brave 
garqoUy  and  is  trls  I'pris  dc  voiis" 

"  I  am  afraid,  madame,  you  are  in  league  with 
Count  de  Gallerand.    Have  you  known  him  long  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  years ;  he  interests  me  much  ;  an- 
other young  man  in  his  position  would  gaspiller 
his  time  in  the  melJe  Parisicnnc  between  the 
dinners  of  high  life,  and  the  balls  and  suppers 
of  the  two  faubourgs.  Don't  you  find  him  very 
handsome  ?  One  can  easily  imagine  him  a  vious- 
qiictaire  in  a  plumed  hat,  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of 
his  sword,  crying,  *  Par  la^palsamblcii  !  messieurs, 
make  way  for  me  !  '  But  Gaston  dc  Gallerand 
aims  at  something  more  than  that.  He  wants 
celebrity — to  place  his  name  among  the  great 
painters." 

"  What  is  his  style  ?  " 

"  For  some  time  past  he  has  affected  the  nude." 

"  Ah  !  I  thought  so,"  exclaimed  Dorothy. 

"  Mais,  it  was  by  chance,  not  choice  ;  I  will 
tell  you  what  tout  Paris  knows.  He  made  his 
debut  as  a  painter  de  la  vie  dh'gante.  His  nrst 
envoi  to  the  saloii  was  *  Les  Dames  qui  passent,' 
a  study,  three  women,  cxquises  de grdce,  walking 
in  the  Champs  Elysees ;  they  were  lifelike, 
dressed  as  Worth  dresses  his  world,  Diinutieuse  in 
every  detail.  It  caused  some  talk,  and  many  con- 
jectures as  to  whom  the  ladies  were.     Then   the 


136 


KERCrilKFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


envious  mocked  that  a  man  of  the  world,  such  as 
Count  de  Gallerand  was  known  to  be,  '  painted 
the  last  mode,'  and  questioned  if  it  were  Worth 
or  F<§lix  who  had  dressed  his  models.  Was  it 
modesty,  in  a  charmer  who  has  such  success  near 
the  beau  scxc,  who,  when  not  before  his  easel,  is 
sure  to  be  in  the  \\or\d  ^  oh  Ton  ne  s  omuie  pas,' 
that  he  painted  thus  ?  It  could  not  be  because 
he  did  not  know  the  human  form  divine  that  he 
clothed  it,  but  because  he  could  not  paint  it  ;  or 
had  he,  ^2:  la  Millais,  found  that  advertisements 
paid  well,  and  that  the  metal  that  Danae  loved 
was  not  to  be  despised.  This  last  taunt  stung 
Count  de  Gallerand,  for  no  one  despises  money 
more  than  he." 

"  It  strikes  me,"  Dorothy  observed,  "  that  he 
enjoys  immensely  the  things  that  money  buys." 

"  Yes,  like  the  rest  of  us  ;  not  more,  not  less ; 
par  cxcmple,  he  is  a  most  dutiful  and  affectionate 
son.  You  must  know  that  when  his  father  died 
a  few  years  ago  he  resigned  his  share  of  the  estate 
in  favor  of  his  mother,  and  has  since,  with  the 
exception  of  a  small  income  from  a  property  en 
Brctagne,  supported  himself  by  his  brush.  He  is 
not  as  frivolous  as  he  seems  ;  he  will  go  far  yet." 

"  How  did  he  happen  to  be  an  artist  ?  " 

"  The  de  Gallerands,  although  an  old  family, 
were  not  well  off ;  it  was  necessary  to  choose  a 
profession  ,    his    father   wished    him  to  enter  St. 


\ 


J 


7 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


\ 


137 


•1 


(» 


.% 


/ 


Cyr,  but  lie  found  he  had  no  head  for  the  .r's  and 
y\  of  algebraic  problems,  so  ran  away,  came  to 
Paris,  and  entered  the  atelier  of  Gerome.  But  t(j  go 
back  to  his  first  picture,  he  sent  it  again  the  next 
year,  only  '  Lcs  Dmncs  qui  passent '  were  uues, 
without  even  an  umbrella  to  protect  them  from 
the  sun  and  the  gaze  of  the  curious.  '  J^oi/ii,  nics 
amis !  see  if  I  don't  know  how  to  paint  the 
human  form  divine,'  he  cried.  Mais,'  the  prin- 
cess continued,  "  it  seems  to  me  this  picture  was  an 
error ;  it  excited  the  animosity  of  the  tartiifisnie 
artistic,  and  naturally  was  refused  at  the  salon." 

"  How,  then,  did  the  people  know  about  it  ? 
Where  did  they  see  the  picture  ?  "  Dorothy  in- 
quired. 

"  Oh,  it  was  exposed  at  Bague's,  rue  Chauss^e 
D'Antin.  Puis,  his  next  picture  was  very  origi- 
nal— I  suppose  you  would  think  very  shocking ; 
en  un  inoty  the  purists  and  dcvots,  even  in  naughty 
Paris,  raised  their  hands  to  heaven  in  holy  horror, 
crying,  '  It  is  indecent,  it  is  odious,  it  is  profane  !  ' 
But  pardon,  mademoiselle,  perhaps  you  would 
rather  not  hear  about  it." 

"  Oh  !  go  on  ;  if  people  could  look  at  and  rave 
over  it,  I  think  I  can  stand  hearing  of  it.  Was 
it  worse  than  '  Lcs  Dames  qui  passent '  ?  " 

'*  Not  really,  but  it  ridiculed  a  sacred  subject. 
He  called  it  *  La  Tentation  de  St,  Dunstan'  It 
represented  the  old  monk,  tempted  by  the  World, 


I  I 


I  ;:^ 


138 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


the  Flesh,  and  the  Devil,  in  the  guise  of  three 
beautiful  young  girls,  perfectly  nude.  One  held 
his  beads,  another  had  got  his  bell  and  book, 
while  the  third  was  dragging  him  off  by  his  beard. 
C  est  choquant,  nest  ce  pas?  Mon  Dieii !  j'ou 
are  actually  blushing,  mademoiselle." 

"  Am  I  ?  Well,  it  is  what  I  feel.  The  idea  is 
disgusting — a  bold  travesty  on  everything  we 
hold  sacred  in  religion  and  morals." 

"  It  is  certainly  boldly  realistic.  Mais  that  is 
the  fashion  all  over  the  world." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Dorothy,  *'  the  dominant  idea 
to-day  seems  to  be  neither  to  realize  the  ideal  nor 
to  idealize  the  real,  but  to  materialize  everything. 
Of  course  the  picture  was  refused  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  a  nine  days'  talk,  and  gave 
him  notoriety,  mais  pas  une  medaille.  Heitreuse- 
inent,  this  freak  of  originality  is  finished.  He 
tells  me  that,  since  he  has  seen  you,  mademoiselle, 
he  dreams  of  other  things,  the  romantic  and  the 
mythological — that  you  are  his  *  inspiration,*  his 
'  soul.*  It  is  a  charming  conception  he  is  now 
painting.  You  will  visit  his  atelier  with  me  to- 
morrow, and  give  him  a  sitting  to  encourage  him 
in  his  good  resolutions,  will  you  not?  His  future 
is  in  your  hands,  man  amie ;  it  would  be  cruel  to 
refuse  ;  only  one  little  visit,  I  pray  you.** 

Dorothy  gave  the  desired  promise,  and  the 
conversation  took  another  turn. 


^y 


II 


/./" 


^' 


r^r 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


139 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  L'amour  la  prit  si  fort  au  coeur, 
Que  pour  un  sourire  moqueur 
II  lui  vint  un  mal  de  langueur." — V Archet,  C.  Cros. 


\v 


The  next  day  Dorothy  called  with  the  princess 
at  ITmpasse  Helene.  She  approached  the  studio 
with  the  undefined  fear  experienced  by  some  in 
visiting  a  surgeon's  office.  Remembering  certain 
pictures  she  had  seen,  of  models  hiding  behind 
screens  as  visitors  entered  unannounced,  she  was 
careful  as  she  mounted  the  staircase  to  stamp 
and  talk  louder  than  usual,  and  even  went  so  far 
as  to  keep  the  princess  from  knocking  for  a  few 
minutes  by  pretending  to  have  caught  her  dress, 
thus  giving  ample  time  to  the  occupants  to  dis- 
pose of  themselves  before  they  entered.  Count 
de  Gallerand,  clad  in  a  picturesque  Breton  cos- 
tume, was  seated  at  his  easel  busily  painting.  He 
had  received  no  intimation  of  their  intended  visit, 
and  was  surprised  and  delighted  to  see  them, 
doing  the  honors  of  the  place  with  exquisite  grace 
and  hospitality.     The  apartment  was  divided  into 


h 


I40 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


atelier  and  bedroom  by  two  large  closets,  in  which 
were  stowed  away  old  furniture,  easels,  canvas, 
manikins,  in  a  word,  all  the  rubbish  accessory  to 
a  studio.  It  was  quite  by  chance  that  Dorothy 
got  a  peep  at  these  closets  as  she  passed  from  the 
atelier  to  the  bedroom,  for  they  were  concealed 
by  tapestries ;  but  the  thought  struck  her,  what  a 
good  place  that  would  be  for  a  model  to  hide  in  ! 
The  room,  an  ideal  studio,  such  as  is  seldom  real- 
ized in  this  world,  but  is  found  oftener  in  the  story- 
teller's imagination,  was  most  luxuriously  furnished 
with  Persian  carpets,  eastern  stuffs,  and  old  tapes- 
tries ;  musical  instruments  and  ancient  arms  adorned 
the  walls  ;  here  was  a  guitar  crossed  by  a  musket, 
opposite  a  violoncello  and  a  panoply  of  ancient  ar- 
mor ;  pictures,  mostly  copies  from  the  old  masters, 
were  in  profusion  ;  several  unframed  canvases 
turned  their  faces  to  the  wall  ;  the  windows,  heavily 
curtained,  and  shaded  below,  admitted  only  a  par- 
tial light  from  above,  save  one,  which,  being  open, 
Dorothy  looked  out  of  and  shuddered  to  find 
that  it  overlooked  the  cemetery  of  Montmartre. 
Truly  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death.  Here 
indoors  all  is  jollity,  movement,  youth,  and  beauty, 
a  fitting  frame  for  an  artist  living  in  this  world 
and  for  this  world.  Outside,  death,  with  its  rows 
upon  rows  of  sad  tombs  marked  with  their  white 
crosses. 

"  Can  you   see  Madame   R^camier's  tomb  from 


1 


! 


♦I 

1 


^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  JIUNT  SOULS. 


141 


here,  Count  dc  Gallcrand  ?  "  Dorothy  inquired 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Come  away  from  that  window,  mademoiselle  ! 
I  never  noticed  it  was  open,"  Count  de  Gallerand 
exclaimed,  as  he  shut  it.  "  Your  first  visit  to  my 
studio  must  be  all  sunshine  ;  no  sad  thoughts  to- 
day. I  have  a  picture  to  show  you  that  no  one 
else  has  seen.  I  want  your  criticism  upon  it," 
saying  which  he  drew  aside  a  curtain  that  had 
concealed  a  canvas,  and  revealed  the  portrait  of  a 
young  girl  in  a  quaint  old-fashioned  bonnet  tied 
under  the  chin,  and  from  which  her  abundant 
black  hair  strayed  in  curls  over  a  white-lace 
Marie-Antoinette  fichu. 

It  was  a  beautiful  face,  with  alabaster  com- 
plexion, just  tinged  with  color,  the  mouth  laugh- 
ing, the  eyes  large,  sad,  and  lustrous — the  kind 
that  when  once  seen,  seem  to  haunt  you  forever. 
To  judge  from  the  portrait  the  artist  must  have 
been  peculiarly  susceptible  to  their  influence,  for 
the  eyes  in  the  picture  seemed  to  be  seeking 
yours  ;  no  matter  where  you  stood  they  followed 
you  ;  you  had  a  feeling  that  they  were  always 
fastened  upon  you  ;  and  if  you  returned  the  gaze, 
you  were  conscious  of  a  depth  in  them  you  had 
not  at  first  remarked. 

The  princess,  as  usual,  was  most  enthusiastic 
and  lavish  in  her  praise.  Dorothy  said  nothing, 
but  as  Count  de  Gallerand  watched  her  rapt  con- 


142 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


templatioii  settle  finally  into  one  of  delighted 
content,  he  felt  himself  well  repaid. 

At  last  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  monsieur,  it  is  far 
too  beautiful  to  be  a  likeness  of  me  !  you  must 
not  call  it  my  portrait." 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle,  it  does  not  do  you 
justice.  I  am  not  content  with  it  ;  the  expres- 
sion is  not  your  happiest,  it  is  too  serious — the 
one  you  have  when  you  are  scolding  me.  Per- 
haps you  do  not  know  that  expression,  made- 
moiselle?" he  laughingly  said,  "but  it  is  very 
awful,  I  can  assure  you  ;  I  feel  as  if  I  were  very 
bad,  un  uiauvais  sujct ;  and  these  eyes  on  the 
canvas  look  at  me  always  in  reproof  as  if  I  had 
committed  some  great  sin,  or  as  if  some  evil 
had  befallen  you,  and  I  the  cause." 

"  Why  don't  you  put  them  out  and  put  in 
others?"  Dorothy  roguishly  inquired. 

"  Mon  Dicu  !  I  should  never  dare  to  ;  they  are 
too  living  ;  it  would  be  like  taking  human  life  ; 
they  would  haunt  me  forever  after,  to  my  life's 
end.  I  shall  keep  this  to  look  at  when  I  am 
naughty  ;  you  know  it  is  the  sketch  I  took  at  the 
opera.  I  shall  never  steal  again  ;  it  is  a  continual 
reproof.  But  I  must  have  a  merry,  gay  Psyche 
too,  one  for  every  day,  to  encourage  me  and  keep 
me  up  to  the  mark.  AJi  del!  how  those  eyes 
follow  a  fellow  !  " 

"  Cover  it  up,  then,  and  stand  it  in  the  corner 


J  nrfi'iiinJii-rttrTiTi 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


M3 


♦ 


with  its  face  to  the  wall  ;  it  ought  to  be  punished 
for  scolding.  That  used  to  be  considered  a  capital 
crime  in  wives,  you  know  ;  I  am  sure  it  is  quite 
as  bad  in  a  spinster,"  said  Dorothy  gaily.  "  Yes, 
thanks,  I'll  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  pleasure,  and 
when  I  have  finished  it,  I'll  sit  for  you  ;  then  you 
will  have  two  pictures  of  me,  which  you  can  mark 
'  Dorothy  before — and  after  taking,*  as  they  do 
in  the  quack-medicine  advertisements  and  hair- 
dyes." 

An  hour  later,  as  the  princess  was  beginning 
to  show  a  little  impatience,  the  count  released 
Dorothy,  after  extorting  a  promise  of  another 
sitting  in  a  fortnight's  time. 

"  I  hope  the  eyes  in  to-day's  picture  will  neither 
haunt  nor  follow  you,  monsieur ;  I  kept  them 
religiously  fastened  upon  the  ceiling,  as  my 
friends  say  I  do  when  seeking  inspiration.  I 
would  have  raised  them  to  heaven,  but  heaven  is 
hard  to  find  in  your  studio.  Count  de  Gallerand, 
you  know." 

As  Dorothy  gave  this  little  playful  thrust,  she 
looked  up  exultingly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You're 
left  now,  my  boy  !  "  but  in  that  glance  she  caught 
the  count's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  a  look  of 
love  she  had  never  seen  there  before.  It  was  a 
revelation,  and  all  the  power  of  heaven  and  earth 
could  not  obliterate  it. 

The  conversation  during  the  visit  had  been  car- 


I' 


144 


KERCIHEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


ricd  on  in  a  mood  that  imai^inativc  people  often 
indulge  in,  and  that  Dorothy  especially  delighted 
in,  but  now,  as  it  was  becoming  serious,  she  has- 
tened her  departure,  wishing  the  Count  all  possi- 
ble luck  with  his  sketch. 

As  Dorothy  never  did  things  by  halves  she  be- 
came intensely  interested  in  the  fate  of  Count  de 
(iallerand's  picture,  and  looked  forward  impa- 
tiently to  seeing  it  hung  in  the  Palais  de  I'lndus- 
tric.  And  not  only  in  the  picture  was  Dorothy 
becoming  interested,  but  in  the  artist  also.  His 
light,  mocking  laugh  she  no  longer  found  satanic  ; 
his  don't-care  and  abandon  manner  she  thought 
put  on  to  hide  deep  feeling.  "  I'll  sound  the 
depths  some  day,"  she  mentally  resolved.  "  Yes, 
here's  a  man  who  can  love  if  he  will,  and  one  I 
could  love  dearly  if  I  dared  ;  so  different  from 
Harry  !  He  has  no  depths  to  explore,  no  secrets 
with  which  to  pique  your  curiosity,  not  even  a 
little  corner  for  romance  and  love  ;  a  dear,  good 
fellow,  too  good  by  half  for  me  ;  but  frightfully 
matter-of-fact.  Fancy,  after  listening  to  one  of  his 
famous  expositions  on  love  and  reason,  my  telling 
him  that  I  had  reasoned  it  out  like  a  problem  in 
Euclid,  and,  love  being  the  result,  would  marry 
him!  If  ever  there  was  a  philanthropist,  Harry 
Alexander  is  the  ideal," 


1 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


'45 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  He  who  to  paint  the  forms  of  love  acquires  the  art, 
Gains  thus  the  surest  entrance  to  the  human  heart." 

In  due  time  '■*  le  Jour  dii  vcrnissagc''  arrived, 
and  Dorothy,  faithful  to  her  promise,  accompanied 
the  princess  and  Alexis  to  the  salon  of  the 
Champs  Elysc'cs.  Tout  Paris  artistiquc  and  tout 
Paris  mondain  were  there  ;  and  she  enjoyed 
immensely  not  only  the  pictures,  but  watching 
the  grand  monde  tricked  out  in  all  the  bravery  it 
is  customary  to  display  upon  that  occasion.  The 
well-groomed  club  men,  with  Iwutonnii-rcs  and 
light  kid  gloves,  amused  her  not  a  little  as  they 
ogled  the  pictures  and  pretty  women  with  their 
one  glass  cl  VAnglaisc.  Taking  it  all  in  all, 
no  two  women  there  attracted  more  attention 
than  she  and  the  princess.  The  latter  (the 
sort  of  woman  whom  the  modern  French  novel 
delights  in  describing,  a  type  seen  only  in 
Europe),  majestically  trailing  her  sable  garments 
of  the  night,  led  the  way,  accompanied  by  her 
son.  Dorothy,  beautifully  dressed  in  white,  with 
Gainsborough  hat,  and  a  large,  loose  bunch  of 
Jacqueminot    roses  in    her  belt,  followed,     with 

ID 


mmmam. 


146 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Il 


% 


W- 

I 

mi' 

« 

ffi 

*'l 

'if 

•f\. 

1  ' 

Count  de  Gallcrand,  who  wondered,  as  he  joined 
the  party  at  the  door,  if  it  were  possible  for  anyone 
to  be  more  lovely  than  she  that  day  ;  then  smiled 
as  he  remembered  he  thought  the  same  thing  almost 
every  time  he  saw  her — the  haughty  carriage  of 
the  head,  in  strong  contrast  with  her  transparent 
complexion,  flushed  with  excitement,  giving  the 
impression  of  frigid  cold  and  tropical  heat.  She 
certainly  was  lovely,  as  many  who  met  them 
thought,  for  after  passing  they  turned  to  look  and 
look  again. 

Dorothy  was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  effect 
she  created  or  the  attention  paid  her.  Not  so 
Count  de  Gallerand  ;  he  noted  it  all,  and  was  im- 
mensely pleased  at  it,  and  almost  as  proud  as  if 
she  belonged  to  him. 

How  her  heart  beat  with  conflicting  emotions 
when  at  last  she  stood  before  the  canvas  in  which 
she  was  most  interested  !  The  hasty  sketch 
made  in  her  two  visits  to  the  studio  had  been 
elaborated  and  finished,  and,  as  Psyche,  awarded 
a  first  medal.  **  It  is  I,  my  very  self,  though 
idealized  by  a  great  artist,"  she  thought,  as 
she  examined  it  critically.  "Yes,  ideali:ed  and 
flattered.  That  charming  girl  just  budding  into 
womanhood  is  much  younger  and  more  beauti- 
ful than  I.  How  naturally  her  white  gown, 
blown  by  the  wind,  clings  to  her,  taking  the 
contour  of  her  limbs  !      .^-olus  has  been  making 


\ 


1 

I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


M7 


I) 


I 

I 


sad  havoc  also  with  her  hair.  I  wonder  if  my 
refractory  locks  escaping  from  their  Grecian  knot 
would  be  as  becoming.  I'll  not  venture,  though, 
to  try  the  effect  in  public.  Psyche  has  evidently 
been  romping  with  those  two  little  children  cling- 
ing to  her,  one  on  either  side,  suggesting  Raphael's 
cherubs,  as  they  look  up  in  that  arch  way,  hidden 
all  but  their  faces  by  her  blown  skirts ;  evidently 
they  have  stopped  in  their  race  to  watch  that 
superb  butterfly  just  escaped  from  the  chrysalis, 
and  hovering  now  upon  the  apple-tree  bough  pre- 
paratory to  taking  flight.  Psyche,  afraid  the  chil- 
dren may  startle  it,  is  holding  them  back,  a  hand 
on  each  as,  with  bended  body  and  head  stretched 
forward,  she  watches  with  bated  breath  what  is 
going  to  happen.  How  true  the  picture  in  every 
detail  is  to  nature !  I  feel  as  if  the  butterfly 
might  stretch  its  wings  and  take  flight,  now,  while 
we  are  standing  gazing  at  it.  I  wish  it  would  ; 
what  a  sensation  it  would  cause  !  The  look  of 
awe  on  the  cherubs'  faces  is  exactly  the  look  that 
little  children  have  when  in  the  presence  of  death  ; 
and  on  Psyche's  mobile  countenance  are  the  hush 
and  wonderment  that  a  mystery  always  produces 
in  a  susceptible  nature.  Yes,  it  is  the  resurrection 
of  the  soul  from  death  to  life.  '  Except  ye  die  ye 
have  no  life  in  you.'  " 

As    Dorothy   stood    there,    rapt   in  contempia- 
ion,    she  was  quite  oblivious  of  time  and  place, 


148 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


"' 


thankful  only  to  have  been  the  incentive,  the 
inspiration,  of  such  a  beautiful  conception.  '*  Oh  ! 
if  I  am  indeed  the  soul,  the  '  Psyche',  of  the 
artist,  as  he  says  I  am,  have  I  not  found  my 
life-work?  need  I  seek  further?  have  I  any  right 
to  sever  the  connection  ?  I  wish  I  knew  what 
was  right.  Oh  that  something  would  happen 
to  decide  for  me  !  " 

But  the  salon  on  le  Jour  du  vernissage  was  no 
place  for  daydreams,  and  Dorothy  was  soon  re- 
called from  her  momentary  forgetfulness  by 
Count  de  Gallerand  exclaiming,  "  Voilh  Ics  flain- 
boyantes  !  il  faut  que  jc  me  sauvcT 

"  Why  run  away  ?  and  who  are  Ics  flmnboy- 
antcs?"  Dorothy  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Your  friend  Miss  Sally  Brown  and  her  clique." 

*'  But  why  do  you  call  them  by  that  name,  mon- 
sieur  ? 

"  I  believe  it  was  given  to  her  first  at  the  atelier 
in  honor  of  her  brilliant  locks  ;  it  clung  to  her,  or 
she  affected  it  and  finally  passed  it  on  to  her  fol- 
lowers.    But  here  she  is;  h  bicntSt!'' 

Dorothy's  whispered  "  Pray  don't  go"  was 
unheeded,  and  a  few  seconds  later  Sally,  very 
startlingly  begowned  in  daring  aesthetic  fashion, 
rushed  up,  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  exclaiming, 
"  I  knew  I'd  see  you  at  this  function,  ma  cJicrc ; 
I  guessed  the  picture  would  draw.  It's  trcs-cJtic, 
and  the  perfect  image  of  you,  my  dear.     Why, 


i*—  <k- 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


149 


Count  de  Gallerand  could  make  his  fortune  any 
day  by  painting  portraits  ;  at  least,  he  could  if  he 
went  to  America." 

"  I'll  tell  him  what  you  say,"  Dorothy  smilingly 
said. 

"  Do.  If  he  went  to  Chicago  I  know  par  and 
mar  would  have  their  pictures  painted  right  away, 
if  I  wrote  who  he  was.  But,  dear  me,  you  were 
in  luck  to  have  yours  accepted ;  it  all  goes  by 
favor,  you  know; 'now  I  sat  for  three,  and  not 
one  of  them  is  here  !  Though  I  say  it  who  hadn't 
ought  to,  the  tableau  in  which  I  was  Salome  and 
danced  before  Herod  was  perfectly  splendid.  Quel- 
que  chose  cacJu'.  The  painter  said  it  was  rejected 
either  because  the  judges  were  envious  of  him,  or 
because  I  was  too  English-looking  to  please  them. 
Now,  you  are  dark,  like  the  PVench." 

"  Alas  !  I  am,  Miss  Flamboyante,"  Dorothy  de- 
murely said. 

"  Oh  !  you've  heard  my  nickname  ;  ain't  it  a 
jolly  one  ?  En  passant,  do  you  know  what  they 
call  you  ?  " 

**  No  ;  I  had  no  idea  that  such  an  insignificant 
person  as  I  am  was  honored  with  a  sobriquet," 
she  answered,  not  a  little  annoyed. 

'^  Mon  Dicu  !  you're   not   insignificant  !     They 

call  you  *  a  study  in  black  and   white ' But 

my  friends  are  making  signs  to  me  to  hurry  up  ; 
I  must  go.'' 


f; 


r 


*-<• 


:  %•■{ 


m 


150 


KRRCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


**  Oh,  don't  go  before  Count  de  Gallerand  re- 
turns." 

*'  Where  is  he  ?  Why  did  he  go  off  just  as  I 
came  up  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  to  speak  to  some  one,  I  believe  ; 
but  he  is  with  the  princess  now  ;  I'll  send  Alexis 
for  him." 

In  a  few  minutes  Alexis  returned  with  the 
count,  who  was  all  smiles  and  excuses  for  not 
having  recognized  Miss  Brown.  "  The  truth  is, 
mademoiselle,  I  fully  expected  to  see  you  in  a 
chapeau  garni  de  coqiieliiche^  as  I  heard  you  were 
going  to  make  your  debut  at  the  salon  in  one." 

"  Oh,  Count  de  Gallerand,  who  told  you  that  ?  " 
said  Sally,  actually  blushing. 

*'  Did  you  not  know  it  was  in  the  papers,  made- 
moiselle ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not ;  you  can't  come  that  little 
game  over  me." 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle,  I  only  repeat  what  I 
was  told." 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  forgive  you  this 
time,  only  promise  not  to  chaff  me  again  about  it," 
Miss  Sally  rejoined,  with  an  arch  smile.  "  And 
now.  Count  de  Gallerand,  do  you  know  your  Psyche 
is  just  too  lovely  for  anything  ?  I'm  quite  gone 
over  her." 

"  So  am  I,  awfully  gone,"  said  Count  de  Galle- 
rand, with  a  roguish  glance  in  Dorothy's  direction. 


i; 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


151 


■;i 


,it 


The  latter  abruptly  turned  away  to  hide  her 
confusion,  but  this  little  aside  was  quite  lost  upon 
Sally,  who  continued,  "  I  wish  you'd  paint  me 
next,  Count  de  Gallerand." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  mademoiselle,  but  how 
would  you  find  time  to  give  me  a  sitting  with  all 
your  art  studies  and  numerous  engagements  with 
your  *  armoires  ' " — Sally's  French  for  lovers. 

'*  Now,  that's  what  I  call  real  mean  of  you, 
Count  de  Gallerand.  Before  I  came  abroad  I 
always  heard  tell  that  the  French  people  were 
very  polite,  and  never  laughed  at  the  mistakes  for- 
eigners made  ;  but  I  must  say  that's  not  been  my 
experience.  La  sakes  !  if  I  were  to  notice  all  the 
mistakes  you  French  make  when  you  speak  Eng- 
lish, my  hands  would  be  full.  I  did  think  of 
getting  a  note-book  and  writing  them  down,  but 
found  it  would  take  too  much  of  my  time." 

"  I  should  certainly  advise  you  to  persevere 
with  it,  mademoiselle,  then  have  it  published 
when  you  return  to  America;  it  would  be  sure  to 
take.  But  seriously,  mademoiselle,  vous  parlcz 
Franqais  parfaitcinent ;  much  better  than  I  speak 
English." 

"  Really  ?  Vcnez  chcz  moi,  ct  j'e  vous  donncrai 
lies  leqons  dans  les  Anglais"  she  said  in  her  best 
French. 

"  Donnez-moi  ma  premic're  le^on  tout  de  suite" 
he  answered. 


II 


'i.a 


ll  I 


I'''  I 


I: 


n. 


»S2 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 

she  exclaimed   in 


"  Here,  ici !  at  the  salon  ! 
astonishment. 

"  Pourquoi pas  ?  Est-ce-quc  nous  trouverons  line 
heiire  plus  convenablc  ?  Jc  vous  en  prie  laissez- 
moi  m  asseoir  prh  de  vous,  et  je  vous  I'couterai  de 
tout  mo7i  cceur." 

"  Oh  !  no,  pas  ici,  mais  to-morrow,  dans  inon 
salon,  if  you  like,"  she  hesitatingly  said  ;  then, 
fearing  to  annoy  him  by  her  refusal,  added,  "  I 
really  must  tear  myself  away  ;  the  girls  are  getting 
impatient.  Au  rcvoir^  Count  de  Gallerand  ;  ta-ta, 
Miss  Pembroke." 

"  I  thought  you  admired  Miss  Brown  ? "  said 
Dorothy  interrogatively,  giving  her  companion  a 
mischievous  glance,  as  Sally  joined  her  friends. 

"  So  I  do,  immensely  ;  only  she  is  trop  prononcSe, 
what  you  call  gushing." 

"  Does  she  really  speak  French  well?" 

*'  No ;  all  wrong ;  but  she  is  not  the  least 
embarrassed  at  her  jargon  of  atelier  argot  and 
English  slang." 

"  Why  did  you  deceive  her,  monsieur,  by  telling 
her  she  did  ?  "  asked  Dorothy,  looking  him  full  in 
the  face  with  her  great  serious  eyes. 

"  Oh  !  cela  nefait  rien  ;  La  Flamboyante  was  not 
deceived  ;  I  owed  her  a  compliment  after  taking 
her  down  as  I  did,"  he  retorted,  with  boyish  glee. 

"But  why  need  you  take  her  down?  Has  Miss 
Sally  been  snubbing  you  ?  " 


\ 


''^■A 


^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


'53 


^ 


\\ 


"  No,  mademoiselle,  the  only  person  that  ever 
snubbed  me  was  Miss  Pembroke." 

"  How  cruel  and  heartless  of  Miss  Pembroke  ! 
But  tell  me,  do  you  admire  the  aesthetic  toilets 
she  affects?" 

"Pas  du  tout ;  dies  sont  atroccs  ;  your  simple 
black  and  white  is  coquetry  itself  beside  it." 

"  Thanks  for  the  compliment.  .  .  .  There's  the 

princess  calling  to  me.     Oh  !   everybody  is  leav- 

.       »» 
mg. 

"  We  were  discussing  Miss  Brown,"  the  count 
explained,  as  they  joined  the  princess,  "and  I  have 
kept  the  last  bon  mot  for  your  ear,  chtre  niadavie ; 
it  happened  the  other  day  in  the  atelier.  Cour- 
tois,  in  passing  her  easel,  accidentally  upset  it  ; 
naturally  he  was  profuse  in  his  excuses,  to  which 
Mademoiselle  La  Flamboyante  replied  with  per- 
fect sang-froid,  '  Oh,  jamais  esprit,'  which  he 
concluded  was  her  French  for  *  never  mind.*  " 

"Oh!  hardly,  monsieur;  you  made  that  up 
yourself.'' 

"  Upon  my  honor  it  is  true.  £;i  passant,  did 
Miss  Brown  give  you  an  invitation  to  assist  at  an 
exhibition  of  living  pictures  to  be  held  in  one  of 
their  studios  next  Sunday  evening?" 

"  No,  she  did  not,  I'm  happy  to  say.  I  do  not 
accept  Sunday  invitations,  and  as  for  the  living 
pictures,  I  do  not  even  know  what  they  are." 

"  It  is  a  case  of  bringing  your  bete  noire,  the 


I 


Mil 


1 


»S4 


K'F.R CHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


V  'h 


model,  to  the  fore,  and  keeping  the  picture  in 
the  background  ;  they  are  all  the  rage  among  the 
American  and  English  art  students  just  now." 

"  Oh,  mademoiselle,  you  will  not  let  monsieur 
le  comte  engage  you  to  go  ;  they  are  very  *  shock- 
ing, as  you  English  say." 

"  I  would  not  be  seen  there  for  worlds,  dear 
madame  ;  nothing  could  tempt  me." 

"  Eh  bien  !  mark  my  words,  it  will  not  be  many 
years  before  you  will  be  having  public  exhibitions 
of  living  pictures  in  London,"  said  the  count. 

'^  J aviais,  jamais  !  never,  never ! "  cried  the  prin- 
cess and  Dorothy  in  chorus.  "  Of  course  you 
will  go,  monsieur?"  added  Dorothy. 

"  Not  unless  you  go,  mademoiselle." 

"  Really  !     But  here  is  the  carriage." 


I*  (. 


mmms^: 


■  \i 


KEKCHJEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


I5S 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


■I 


"  Next  there  drew  gallantly  nigh  a  brave  tempter,  he, 
Kama,  the  king  of  passions,  who  hath  sway 
Over  the  gods  themselves,  lord  of  all  loves, 
Ruler  of  pleasure's  realm.     Laughing  he  came." 

— Edwin  Arnold. 

That  same  evening,  after  Dorothy's  return 
from  the  salon,  Daniel  handed  her  a  bundle  of 
papers  and  a  note.  She  opened  the  latter  and 
read  : 

'■'■  Ma  ch^re  Psyche  : 

"  Thinking  you  equally  interested  with  me  in  the 
reception  of  our  envoi,  I  am  sending  you  all  the 
papers  that  have  noticed  it.  Haireusement  the 
most  part  are  favorable.  I  am  sure  you  will  agree 
with  me  that  the  critique  and  illustration  in  the 
Figaro  III iistr^  dire  charming.  It  echoes  your  sen- 
timents, nest-ce  pas  ?  when  it  says,  '  //  laisse  dans 
fceil  une  caresse,  dans  Vcsprit  une  id^e  harmo- 
nieuse.'  And  now  comes  the  best  of  all,  thanks  to 
you,  ma  inic.  Not  only  have  we  2ine  medaille, 
mais  aussi  la  croix  de  la  Ldgion  d" Honnenr  ;  etes- 
vous  contente.  Psyche?  Hoping  to  see  you  to- 
morrow when  I  call  at  Hotel  Nesvitsky,  believe 
me,  ma  chire  mademoiselle,  tout  h  vous, 

"Gaston  de  Gallerand." 


h 


>56 


KERCIIIEl'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


i  i 


This  little  note  made  Dorothy  very  happy  ;  she 
felt  that  she  had  been  instrumental  in  helping  the 
artist  to  attain  a  lofty  ideal.  She  went  to  bed 
that  night  with  a  lighter  heart  than  she  had  yet 
felt  since  coming  to  Paris. 

Early  next  morning,  without  even  waiting  for 
her  petit  dqcuncr,  Dorothy  slipped  out  of  the 
house  for  a  stroll  in  the  neighboring  park,  as  she 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  every  fine  day 
since  the  spring  had  come.  Pare  Monceau  was 
so  fresh  and  lovely  in  its  tender  green  at  that  early 
hour — but  I  shall  not  describe  it,  for  nowadays 
everyone  has  been  in  Paris,  and  knows  it ;  in  fact, 
the  barbarians  from  other  lands  have  taken  pos- 
session of  it,  and  converted  it  into  a  playground 
for  their  children  and  a  meeting-place  for  nursery- 
maids during  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  For- 
tunately the  vulgar  crowd  have  not  yet  desecrated 
the  early  morn  nor  dewy  eve  ;  at  either  hour  it  is 
delicious.  Dorothy  often  congratulated  herself 
upon  the  Hotel  Nesvitsky  being  so  near.  In 
imagination  she  would  fancy  it  a  royal  domain 
once  more,  the  scene  of  fetes,  revels,  and  duels,  as 
in  the  days  of  Philippe  Egalit^.  Sometimes,  if 
Alexis  were  with  her,  she  would  talk  to  him  and 
give  him  lessons  in  botany  in  imitation  of  Madame 
de  Genlis  and  her  pupil,  the  little  Dauphin.  Some- 
times, if  she  were  feeling  lonely  or  sentimentally 
inclined,    she  would  visit   the   little    moss-grown 


I 


tl. 


P! 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


157 


monument  in  memory  of  the  poor  young  stranger, 
who,  after  being  beaten  to  death,  was  buried  there. 
This  morning,  however,  Dorothy  was  not  in  one 
of  her  sentimental,  dreamy  moods,  but  on  the  con- 
trary very  wide  awake,  quite  ready  for  a  race  witii 
Henri  Quatre  and  his  fat  minister  should  they 
appearand  challenge  her.  As  neither  did,  she  was 
having  a  brisk  walk  all  by  herself.  Glancing  by 
chance  down  the  street  as  she  passed  the  southern 
entrance,  whom  should  she  see  but  Count  de  Gal- 
lerand  coming  towards  her  on  horseback.  "  He 
does  not  ride  like  an  Englishman,  not  like  Marry," 
she  thought,  with  British  prejudice,  as  she  re- 
turned his  bow  ;  "  nevertheless  he's  awfully  hand- 
some," she  admitted,  as  he  dismounted,  passed  his 
arm  through  his  bridle,  and  walked  at  her  side. 

'^  Bon  jour y  madcuioisclle ;  conune  vons  ctcs  ma- 
tinalcy 

"  The  tip  of  the  mornin'  to  yourself,  monsieur,** 
she  gayly  answered.     "  Let  me  congratulate  you 

upon  your  new  decoration.     You'll  be  no  end  swell 

»» 
now. 

'^  Merciy  mademoiselle ;  I  owe  it  all  to  you, 
Psyche,"  he  said,  with  one  of  his  soft  glances. 
"  And  how  did  you  find  the  salon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  enjoyed  it  immensely." 

'*  And  our  French  school  of  painting,  what  do 
you  think  of  that,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  That  it  is  undeniably  the  first  in  the  world  ; 


158 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


the  technique  is  admirable ;  you  are  certainly 
masters  of  the  art ;  but  at  the  same  time  there 
were  comparatively  few  of  the  pictures  I  cared 
for ;  they  were  too  realistic.  I  am  not  only 
ashamed  but  weary  of  this  display  of  indecorous 
nudity ;  I  would  apply  to  them  Ingres'  advice  to 
his  pupils  when  passing  before  Rubens'  pictures 
at  the  Louvre  :  *  Salucz,  messieurs,  inais  neregardez 
pas:  " 

"  You  are  very  severe  upon  our  modern  school. 
I  had  no  idea  you  were  such  a  purist  in  art ;  why, 
even  in  England  your  greatest  artists,  Watts,  for 
instance,  paint  tho  nude." 

"  Yes,  unhappily,  in  imitation  of  your  school  ; 
but  Watts  is  not  by  a  long  way  a  Sir  Frederick 
Leighton  or  a  Burne  Jones.  Happily  this  realism 
in  art  is  a  comparatively  new  thing  with  us,  for  it 
is  a  upas-like  exotic,  an  outcome  of  an  effete  civil- 
ization. History  repeats  itself ;  licentiousness,  vo- 
luptuousness, and  shamelessness  have  always  been 
the  outward  signs  of  moral  an^  spiritual  decay  in 
man  and  nations.  Still,  it  is  sad  to  see  a  young 
republic  with  all  the  vices  of  a  worn-out  people. 
When  I  think  of  Canova's  '  Venus  Victrix,'  for 
which  Pauline  Bonaparte  sat.  Napoleon's  fall  is 
easily  accounted  for.  The  empire  was  built  on  a 
rotten  foundation." 

"  Eh  bieu  !  mademoiselle,  if  we  are  more  real- 
istic in  art,  you  bear  off  the  palm  in  literature." 


m 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


159 


w 


; 


"I  cannot  agree  with  you  there,  monsieur  ;  we 
have  no  realistic  writers  Hke  Zola;  our  literature 
is  far  purer  than  yours.  That  which  is  called 
emancipated,  and  to  which  you  refer,  I  fancy, 
comes  under  quite  another  head  ;  it  is  written 
with  a  purpose  and  an  object ;  that  purpose  is  to 
counteract  this  very  depravity  of  the  age  that  wc 
are  now  discussing.  This  cry  of  our  women  for 
emancipation,  for  equality  of  opportunity,  is 
ridiculed  in  the  press  by  men  who  would  like  to 
laugh  it  down  ;  but  the  reform  is  sadly  needed, 
and  will  come  sooner  or  later.  Woman  suffrage 
and  labor  problems  are  the  only  questions  which 
can  rouse  enthusiasm  in  the  masses." 

"  Hcurciiscincnt  our  women  have  not  caught 
the  inaladicy 

"  French  women  do  not  feel  the  need  yet. 
Your  married  women  have  always  had  more 
liberty  intellectually  and  politically  than  ours; 
for   years    their    salons   have   been   a   power   in 

FM 
ranee. 

"  MalJieurcuscmcnt  voiis  avea  raisoit,  mademoi- 
Sillc ;  fortunately  the  republic  has  shown  its  wis- 
dom by  not  encouraging  these  political  salons. 
There  is  always  intrigue  when  woman  isconsulted. 
She  showed  her  hand  in  the  Wilson  scandal ; 
who  but  a  woman  would  have  thought  of  that 
traffic  in  decorations?" 

"  Why,  monsieur,  you   amaze  me  ;    I   thought 


i      I 


'jT 


Ij 


V\ 


*?( 


I?    t 


W^ 


ii 


M 
M 


i 


i6o 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


you  the  most  gallant  of  men — devoted  to  us 
heart  and  hand." 

"  I  adore  women,  mademoiselle,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  Louise  Michel  type.  Heaven  defend 
me  from  political  and  strong-minded  women ! 
La  politique  sans  Ics  fcmnies.'' 

"  You  say  that  because  you  know  nothing 
about  us.  Neither  you  nor  any  other  foreigner, 
monsieur,  can  understand  the  position  of  woman 
in  England  and  America  to-day  ;  she  has  been 
kept  so  long  in  the  background,  hedged  in  by 
rules  and  conventionalities,  that  when  once  a 
break  is  made,  she  rushes  in  pell-mell,  carrying 
all,  both  good  and  bad,  before  her,  like  a  mighty 
river  overflowing  its  banks.  Modern  thought  is 
revolutionizing  church  and  state  in  England. 
Why  should  woman  be  exempt  from  the  spirit  of 
the  age  ?  She  can  only  be  kept  from  the  trend 
by  living  in  another  age ;  or,"  she  added,  mis- 
chievously, "  man  might  try  what  he  can  do  by 
shutting  her  up  in  a  harem.  But  here  we  are  at 
the  hotel,  and  as  I  have  letters  to  write  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  end  my  dissertation  and  bid  you 
good-morning.  You  did  not  know  before  that  I 
was  such  an  advocate  for  woman's  rights,  eh, 
monsieur?"  she  archly  said,  as  she  ran  laughing 
into  the  courtyard  ;  but  \\\q.  grandc  parte  closed  of 
its  own  accord  ere  Count  de  Gallerand's  reply 
could  reach  her. 


<t 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


i6i 


<ff 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Earth  is  an  island  posted  round  with  fears  ; 
My  way  to  heaven  is  through  the  sea  of  tears ; 
It  is  a  stormy  passage,  where  is  found 
The  wreck  of  niany  a  ship,  but  no  man  drown'd." 

— Qtiarles. 

One  lovely  evening  after  a  cosy  dinner  with 
her  pupil,  for  the  first  time  that  year  without 
artificial  light,  Dorothy  drew  an  easy-chair  up  to 
the  window  overlooking  the  park.  As  the  twi- 
light deepened  she  threw  aside  her  book  with 
that  indescribable  feeling  that  those  in  perfect 
health  have  in  common  with  budding  nature;  a 
feeling  of  regeneration,  when  to  live  is  happiness 
enough.  It  was  one  of  those  warm  spring  nights 
when  beautiful  Paris  is  enchanting ;  everybody 
out  of  doors,  the  boulevards  and  the  Champs 
Elysees  a  blaze  of  light,  the  cafi^s  chantants  and 
the  pavements  in  front  of  restaurants  and  bras- 
series thronged  with  the  gay  world ;  even  the 
poor,  the  lame,  and  the  halt,  who,  like  the  dor- 
mouse and  the  bear,  have  been  hibernating  during 
the  cold,  creep  from  their  holes  and  crannies  into 

the  air  and  light  once  more. 
II 


1 


\-'-  f<i 


lA   vi 


«« 


nwOTiw 


162 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


V  ■ 


Hi 


11     i 


'^, 


As  Dorothy  watched  the  petit  niondc  strolling 
hither  and  thither,  she  wondered  if  they  were 
really  any  happier  than  when  Pare  Monceau  was 
a  princely  demesne.  Musing  thus  she  recalled  a 
little  anecdote  the  princess  had  related  that  after- 
noon, apropos  of  the  beautiful  horse-chestnuts  lin- 
ing the  streets,  just  then  in  bloom.  It  seems  that 
when  there  were  kings  in  France,  year  after  year 
one  large  horse-chestnut  in  the  Tuileries  Gardens 
flowered  long  before  the  other  trees  in  Paris  ;  so 
well  known  was  this  that  people  watched  and 
marked  it  as  one  of  the  sure  indications  of  spring. 
They  said,  "  The  cJidtaignier  in  the  Tuileries  is  in 
flower,"  just  as  they  said,  "  The  swallows  have 
returned."  Since  France  has  become  a  republic, 
and  the  imperial  family  have  been  exiled,  all  is 
changed  ;  the  trees  too  would  not  have  one  more 
distinguished  than  the  rest  to  rule  over  them  ;  all 
must  be  on  the  same  level ;  and  though  the  horse- 
chestnut  is  still  standing  in  the  Tuileries  Gardens, 
it  never  "  pushes,"  as  the  French  say,  before  the 
others.  Nature  verily  seems  to  adapt  itself  to 
man,  the  master  mind.  Dorothy  was  interrupted 
in  her  reverie  by  hearing  her  own  name  uttered 


by  some  one   in  a  neighboring 


'y  ;  she  in- 


stantly recognized  the  voice  as  B^i.  Estoracho's. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  on  your  honor, 
monsieur,  that  you  and  Miss  Pembroke  are  noth- 
ing more  to  each  other  than  strangers  ?  " 


\ 


\ 


I 

(I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


163 


y\ 


\ 


«s 


"  Nothing  more,  upon  my  honor — in  the  way 
you  mean,"  answered  Count  de  Gallerand. 

'^  Ah  cicl !  I  always  thought  her  under  your 
protection,  or  at  least  that  you  had  a  claim  upon 
her,  so  refrained  from  trespassing  upon  your 
preserves.     Devilish  fine  woman  too  !  " 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,  Miss  Pembroke  knows  very 
well  how  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  needs  neither 
you  nor  me  for  a  protector." 

"  Why  is  she  in  this  house,  then  ?  " 

"  A  mere  accident,  nothing  more,  I  assure  you, 
monsieur.  Z<^?  <'//r'rt  wanted  an  English ///^//V///'r/V^ 
for  her  son  ;  mademoiselle  applied  for  the  position, 
and  was  accepted." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  nion  ami,  she 
knows  nothing  of  what  goes  on  here  ?  "  asked  Don 
Estoracho. 

"Nothing,  absolutely  nothing;  she  is  as  un- 
suspecting as  a  baby.  But  hark  !  the  princess  is 
calling  you,  monsieur;  I'll  finish  my  cigar  before 
joining  you." 

I"or  a  moment  Dorothy  was  dumfounded  by 
what  she  had  heard.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  was 
she  dreaming?  was  she  under  the  influence  of  a 
terrible  nightmare  ?  No,  she  was  only  too  wide 
awake.  Then,  cool  and  self-possessed  (perhaps 
from  inability  to  grasp  the  situation),  she  rang  the 
bell  and  requested  Daniel  to  ask  Monsieur  le 
Count  de  Gallerand  to  have  the  goodness  to  give 


-%-' 


1 64 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


I 


her  a  few  minutes'  interviewbeforeheleft.  Hardly 
had  the  man  departed  ere  Count  de  Galierand 
presented  himself. 

"  Good-evening,  monsieur  ;  can  you  spare  me 
ten  minutes  of  your  valuable  time  ?  I  want  to  ask 
you  something." 

"  Nothing,  mademoiselle,  would  give  me  greater 
happinesr.  than  to  put  all  my  time  in  this  world 
and  the  next  at  your  disposal,"  he  replied,  with  his 
hand  on  his  heart. 

"  Thanks,  I  want  but  a  very  small  portion  of 
it.  I  will  detain  you  only  long  enough  to  find 
out  where  I  am — in  whose  house." 

"  Mon  Dine !  why,  in  the  Princess  Nesvit- 
sky  s. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  cried,  impatiently  stamp- 
ing her  foot.  "  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you  first 
that  I  accidentally  overheard  your  conversation  a 
few  minutes  ago  with  Don  Estoracho,  and  know 
there  is  some  mystery  about  which  I  am  kept  in 
the  dark.  Why  I  have  been  kept  in  ignorance 
heaven  only  knows ;  I  want  the  truth  and  no 
subterfuges;  all  must  be  explained  immediately. 
Will  you  for  once  in  your  life  condescend  to  answer 
me  without  equivocation  ?  If  you  will  not.  Count 
de  Galierand,  I  shall  call  Daniel,  and  if  he  is  under 
the  ban  of  secrecy,  I  shall  seek  the  princess  and 
have  an  explanation." 

"  Ma  ficre    demoiselle,   you   are   superbe ;    you 


i( ; 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


if'5 


•  * 


have  mistaken  your  profession.  You  should  have 
gone  on  to  tlie  stage ;  tragedy  is  unquestionably 
your  forte.  Who  could  have  imagined  such  fire  ? 
A  veritable  volcano  beneath  that  cold  exterior  ! 
You  are  no  longer  Jeanne  d'Arc  seeing  visions  and 
dreaming  dreams,  but  la  Pucelleat  the  head  of  the 
army.  Ah,  Psyche,  I  cannot  live  without  you. 
You  are  my  inspiration,  the  soul  that  I  was  born 
without  and  have  been  groping  for  all  my  life. 
I  recognized  you  as  my  alter  ego  the  first  time  I 
saw  you.  Did  not  virtue  go  out  of  you  then  ?  " 
he  asked,  stretching  out  his  arms  as  if  to  draw  her 
to  him. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  she  haughtily  replied.  "  But, 
as  usual,  you  arc  evading  my  question  ;  you  have 
a  knack  of  avoiding  things  which  you  think  un- 
pleasant. Count  de  Gallerand,  that  is  very  ingen- 
ious, but  you  cannot  put  me  off  this  time.  Will 
you  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know,  or  shall  I  go 
elsewhere  for  information  ?  For  one  brief  moment 
I  was  fool  enough  to  believe  your  protestations, 
to  fancy  you  cared  enough  for  me  to  consider  my 
reputation;  I  put  you  to  the  test.  Oh,howarethe 
mighty  fallen  !  That  mask  of  friendship,  was  it 
worn  only  to  deceive  me  ?  Are  you  in  collusion. 
Count  de  Gallerand,  with  the  princess  to  betray 
me  r 

*'  Mon  Dieu  !  mademoiselle,  I  love  you  to  dis- 
traction." 


r-^ 


■B!SRB 


cMkW 


1 66 


KERCIIIEI'S  TO  nUXT  SOULS. 


li! 


"Then  prove  it.  For  the  third  ami  last  time  I 
ask,  monsieur,  who  is  this  princess  ?  " 

"  An  adventuress." 

"  Then  she  is  not  really  a  princess  ?  ** 

"  Dame  !     I  suppose  not." 

"  And  there  was  no  Prince  Mesvitsky  ?  " 

"  Mais  si,  mademoiselle." 

"  And   he  is  not  a  widow?" 

'' A/t    cil !  many  times." 

"  Who  is  the  father  of  her  son  ?  " 

"  Heaven  only  knows  ;  he  may  have  a  dozen 
for  all  I  know." 

"  And  where  does  her  money  come  from  ?  " 

"  She  has  a  gambling-house." 

"And  I  suppose  you,  Count  de  Gallerand,  hold 
the  bank  ;  you  seem  to  be  prime  favorite  here." 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle  ;  that  oflfice  is  monop- 
olized by  Don  Estoracho.     I  do  not  gamble." 

"Naturally  you  do  not  gamble,  monsieur; 
being  behind  the  scenes  you  know  only  too  well 
that  it  is  always  the  bank  that  wins  in  the  long 
run,"  she  scornfully  replied. 

"  You  are  very  hard,  mademoiselle.  Have  you 
no  such  word  as  charity  in  English  ?  I  make  no 
protestations,  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  pious,  but 
gambling  is  not  one  of  my  vices ;  I  have  no  taste 
for  it  ;  cest  tout.  My  father  knew  the  princess 
years  ago,  when  she  sang  in  the  Op^ra  Comique  ; 
it  was  for  Napoleon  HI.  they  say  she  left  the  stage ; 


f  J 


1(1' 


It 


« » 


4^1 


f' 


li.«' 


li) 


KERCIllEI'S  TO  IIUXT  SOULS. 


167 


after  Sedan  she  disappeared  ;  tlien  one  day  came 
back  a  widow,  calling  herself '  Princess  Nesvitsky,' 
took  this  hotel — and  you  know  the  rest,  mademoi- 
selle. Mais,  comprenez-vous,  she  is  not  all  bad.  I 
know  many  a  poor  wretch  who  would  have  gone  to 
the  dogs  had  she  not  helped  him.  She  almost  flings 
her  money  away,  so  generous  is  she.  I  came  here 
solely  on  your  account.  Psyche,  in  hopes  of  seeing 
you.  The  princess  has  not  been  my  abettor  at  your 
expense.  Let  us  be  just  for  once,  inon  ainie.  She 
has  been  your  guardian  angel  ;  there  is  nothing 
she  would  not  do  for  you.  She  worships  you, 
almost,  as  if  you  were  a  superior  being.  Over  and 
over  again  have  the  men  about  town  asked  to  be 
introduced  to  you,  but  she  invariably  puts  them 
oft.  Vyaimcnt,  mademoiselle,  you  have  never 
met  a  person  here  that  you  could  not  acknowl- 
edge in  the  best  society.  I  suppose,  with  your 
quixotic  ideas,  you  will  not  remain  now  that 
you  know  what  the  house  is ;  but  do  nothing 
hastily  to  wound  the  princess'  feelings,  I  implore 
of  you.  Remember,  mademoiselle,  she  has  been 
very  good  to  you,  and  done  all  out  of  a  good  heart 
because  she  saw  you  '  si  tristi\  with  tears  in  your 
beautiful  eyes,  the  day  you  came  of  out  Madame 
Garotte's." 

"  Thanks,  Count  de  Callerand,  a  thousand  thanks 
for  your  advice  ;  I  will  follow  it.  I  am  heartily 
ashamed  of  my  first  feelings.     In  my  blind  pride 


St. 

11 


V 


mmmmmm 


7i  i:. 


168 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


and  rage  I  had  determined  to  go  to-morrow 
morning  without  a  word.  You  have  shown  me 
that  a  day  more  or  less  is  of  little  consequence.  I 
will  see  the  princess  to-morrow  and  calmly  take 
my  leave." 

"  I  know  words  would  be  thrown  away  in  urg- 
ing you  to  remain,  Psyche,  but  do  not  *  pull  up 
stakes  *  until  you  have  secured  a  good  pension 
elsewhere,  which  I  fear  you  will  have  some  diffi- 
culty in  doing  after  leaving  here.  The  princess 
is  well  known  in  Paris,  ct — taut  pis  pour  vo2is — you 
have  been  seen  everywhere  with  her." 

"  Unfortunately,  I  have,  but  I  have  quite  made 
lip  my  mind  what  to  do.  I  shall  go  first  to  an 
'  English  Home,'  tell  them  all  the  circumstances 
of  my  being  here,  then  wait  for  future  develop- 
ments. I  may  return  home.  But  do  not  let  me 
detain  you  longer.  Again  thanking  you,  I  will 
say  good-bye,  for  I  have  much  to  do  to-night." 

"  Why,  good-bye,  Psyche  ?  I  shall  pay  my  re- 
spects directly  you  are  in  your  new  quarters." 

"  No,  Count  de  Gallerand,  you  must  not ;  do 
not  call,  I  beg  of  you  ;  you  will  not  be  admitted  ; 
no  followers  allowed  there.  All  my  past  life  in 
Paris  ends  to-night ;  if  we  meet  again  it  must  be 
as  strangers." 

"  Strangers !  jamais,  Psyche,  my  soul,  my  in- 
spiration, my  other  half.  Would  you  have  me 
deny  myself  ?    I  have  lived  only  since  I  met  you  !  " 


^'> 


I 


I? 


I  »■ 


\ii 


i. 


I**f 


KERCniKFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


169 


I. 


,  *■       I. 


Seizing  her  hand  he  carried  it  to  his  hps,  in  tlic 
graceful,  courtly  way  he  knew  so  well  how  to  do  ; 
then,  looking  in  her  face  with  a  soft,  languishing 
glance,  he  whispererl  in  her  ear  a  torrent  of  deli- 
cious compliments.  Laughing  at  her  blushes  and 
her  expostulations,  he  began  humming  one  of 
Yvette  Guilbert's  popular  songs,  waltzed  two  or 
three  times  around  the  room,  and  finally  snapping 
his  fingers  like  castanets  above  his  head,  danced 
himself  out  of  the  door,  throwing  kisses  from  his 
finger-tips  as  he  made  his  exit.  It  was  thus  he 
got  rid  of  anything  serious. 

Dorothy  felt  almost  happy  again,  his  mercurial 
lightheartedness  was  so  contagious.  Yes,  he  cer- 
tainly had  a  wonderful  effect  upon  her.  "  What 
an  enigma  he  is !  "  mused  Dorothy.  "  One  mo- 
ment a  gay,  romping,  spoilt  child,  provocative  of 
laughter  ;  the  next  a  good,  dutiful,  loving  son  ;  and 
now  he  has  exhibited  another  side  of  his  char- 
acter. Who  would  have  expected  from  him 
such  sound  common  sense,  such  a  just  conception 
of  things,  as  he  has  shown  this  evening  ?  Though 
audacious  and  frivolous  in  some  moods,  he  think- 
eth  no  evil,  and  is  certainly  very  lovely  in  others. 
It  is  the  unexpected  that  always  happens.  I 
seem  to  have  lived  an  eternity  in  the  last  hour. 
How  angry  I  was  at  first,  with  what  I  then  thought 
righteous  anger !  and  now  I  feel  as  lamblike  as 
possible,  and  all  on  account  of  a  few  words  com- 


I 


\ 


kt 


170 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


■cl, 


\V' 


1^ 

r 


\\\^  from  such  an  unexpected  (lu.irter.  I  believe 
he  could  do  anything  he  liketl  with  me  if  he 
kept  that  mood  up  long  enough." 

While  musing  thus  Dorothy  was  oppressed,  in 
spite  of  herself,  by  a  foreboding  of  impending 
calamity.  "  My  last  night  here  !  Is  there  no  rest 
for  me  in  this  world  ?  Am  I  like  the  Wandering 
Jew,  and  poor  Joe,  to  be  forever  moving  on  ? 
Why  have  I  such  an  intense  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful,  such  a  passionate  longing  for  pleasure 
and  love,  if  they  are  always  to  remain  unsatisfied  ? 
I  suppose  it's  my  cross,  which  I  shall  have  to  bear 
till  I  pass  through  the  waters  of  Lethe  and  lay  it 
down  in  the  land  where  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

Tired,  both  mentally  and  bodily,  she  sought  her 
bed,  but  could  not  sleep  ;  her  brain  was  far  too 
excited  for  that,  so  she  lay  wide  awake  revolving 
plans  for  the  future,  and  suffering  a  hundred  deaths 
in  imagination.  **  Is  it  well  to  be  so  acutely  sus- 
ceptible to  imaginary  pain,  I  wonder?  Are  not 
those  poor  wretches  happier  than  I,  who  are  not 
blessed  with  an  imagination,  who  cannot  realize 
they  are  to  die,  even  when  the  axe  is  gleaming 
aboi^e  their  heads?  How  clearly  is  this  apathy 
illustrated  in  the  case  of  that  poor  man  who  in  the 
early  morning,  after  a  rainy  night,  being  led  across 
the  prison  yard  to  the  scaffold,  turned  out  of  his 
pathway  for  a  puddle.  He  always  caught  cold, 
he  said,  if  he  wet  his  feet."     After  a  time  her 


J 


,i 


H 

J 
'1 


Lt 


KEKilNKl'S  TO  HU\T  SOULS. 


»7i 


tliou^rhts  went  back  to  Canada,  and  to  JIarry 
Alexander,  witli  liis  calm,  noble  face,  without  a 
spark  of  passion,  but,  oh  !  so  tender,  so  lo.ing,  so 
faithful.  "  Dear,  ^njod  fellow  !  "  she  thought,  "  I'll 
write  and  t^ll  him  ail." 

This  calmed  her,  and  she  dropped  off  to  sleep 
as  the  dawn  crept  in  at  the  window. 


j 


! 


¥ 


172 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

"Culture,  whicn,  smooth,  the  whole  world  licks,  also  unto  the 
Devil  sticics.  The  days  of  that  old  Northern  phantom  now  are 
over.  Where  canst  thou  horns  and  tail  and  claws  discover  ? 
And  as  regards  the  foot,  which  I  can't  spare  in  truth,  't  would 
only  make  the  people  shun  me.  Therefore  I've  worn,  like  many 
a  spindly  youth,  false  calves  these  many  years  upon  me." — GoetJie. 

Dorothy  rose  at  her  customary  hour  the 
next  morning,  and  tried  to  occupy  herself  as  usual 
with  books  and  work  until  the  princess  should  be 
visible,  but  very  unsuccessful  were  all  her  efforts  ; 
she  was  nervous,  and  though  quite  determined  as 
to  the  finale,  she  was  coward  enough  to  wish  to 
postpone  the  coming  interview.  Her  common 
sense,  however,  told  her  nothii.^  was  to  be  gained 
by  that,  and  a  few  minutes  before  twelve  she 
tapped,  with  beating  heart,  at  the  door  of  the 
princess's  boudoir.  Upon  the  occupant  calling 
"  Entrez^''  she  opened  the  door  so  hesitatingly 
and  appeared  so  embarrassed  that  the  princess  im- 
mediately saw  something  was  wrong. 

"What  is  it,  mon  petit  cJiatf'  she  sympathiz- 
ingly  asked,  in  her  motherly  way  ;  which  so  thor- 
oughly  upset    Dorothy  that   she  burst  into  tears, 


' 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


173 


t 
1 


and  some  minutes  elapsed  before  she  could  com- 
mand her  voice  sufficiently  to  say: 

"  I  must  leave  you,  madame." 

Had  Dorothy's  face  not  been  hidden  iri  her 
hands,  she  would  have  seen  the  flush  of  anger  and 
pain  that  crimsoned  the  brow,  neck,  and  hands 
even,  of  the  princess.  There  was  a  hush  of  a  few 
seconds  ;  then  she  asked,  in  a  voice  that  tried  to 
be  calm  : 

'^  Pottrqitoiy  ma  cJicric  ?  are  you  not  content? 
What  has  happened  ?  Is  Alexis  naughty,  or 
Daniel  impertinent  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  madame,  Daniel  is  most  attentive, 
and  Alexis  is  one  of  the  best  lads  that  ever  lived  ; 
but — oh  !  madame,  how  can  I  explain  it  ?  I'm 
afraid  you  will  not  understand  me,  but  I  know 
now  why — why  all  these  men  come  to  your 
house,  and  I  cannot  stay  in  it.  I  should  never 
have  come,  or  I  should  have  made  inquiries  before 
coming.  Don't  think  I  am  blaming  you,  dear 
madame;  I  know  it  is  all  my  own  fault  ;  but  you 
looked  so  kind  and  motherly,  and  I  was  so  inex- 
perienced in  such  things,  I  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  that  there  were  houses  like  yours  in  fashion- 
able neighborhoods.  I  must  go;  please  don't  ask 
me  to  stay,  and  don't  think  me  ungrateful.  I 
love  you  dearly,  madame,  and  will  remember  you 
in  my  prayers  to  the  end  of  my  life." 

"If  you  feel,  mademoiselle,  that  you  cannot  be 


Si 


im 


I 


i 


'74 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


happy  with  me,  I  shall  not  urge  you  to  remain.  I 
only  wish  you  to  do  what  you  think  best  for  your- 
self. I  love  you  more  than  I  have  ever  loved  any 
other  woman,  and  it  would  give  me  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure  if  you  would  stay  here  with  me  and 
my  son.  I  felt  drawn  to  you  that  day  when  I  saw 
you  in  rue  Miromesnil ;  your  face  was  so  sad  it 
touched  even  my  hard  heart.  If  I  could  tell  you 
all " 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not,"  Dorothy  hastily  exclaimed, 
thinking  she  was  going  to  tell  her  something  of 
her  past  life,  and  fearing  she  might  be  touched  by 
it  and  overpersuaded  to  remain. 

*'  No,  mademoiselle,  not  to-day  ;  you  may  want 
to  hear  it  another  time.  And  now  may  I  ask 
you  who  has  enlightened  you  as  to  your  sur- 
roundings ?  " 

"  I  accidentally  overheard  last  evening  some 
words  between  Don  Estoracho  and  Count  de  Gal- 
lerand,  whereupon  I  sent  for  the  latter  and  de- 
manded the  truth." 

"  Davie  !  you  are  not  going  away  with  the  count, 
mademoiselle?"  the  princess  quickly  exclaimed. 

"  Oh  dear,  no  ;  what  made  you  fancy  that?" 

"  Parce  que  I  know  how  much  he  admires  you  ; 
in  fact,  he  is  (\w'\ic  fol de  vous  ;  but  never,  mon  en- 
fant, go  with  him  anywhere  except  as  his  ivife; 
promise  me  that." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  going  anywhere  with 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


175 


\ 


' 


, 


him,  wife  or  otherwise;  he  may  be  silly  over  me, 
but  I  am  not  so  about  him." 

**  E/i  bini  !  he  is  a  charming  boy  ;  I  had  quite 
set  my  heart  upon  your  marrying  yourself  to  him. 
He  can't  marry  himself  to  a  portionless  woman, 
you  know,  and  I  was  just  arranging  to  give  you  a 
dot.  You  will  stay  with  me,  ma  chcre,  and  let  me 
carry  out  my  little  plan,  will  you  not?  " 

"  Thanks,  madame,  but  your  plan  is  altogether 
too  French  to  chime  in  with  my  English  notions 
of  happiness.  I  shall  bid  farewell  to  Count  de 
Gallerand  at  the  same  time  with  yourself.  I  am 
going  to-day  to  a  governess's  home,  where  I  shall 
be  safe  from  the  gay  world." 

''Ah  cicl !  You  go  to  that  terrible  place, 
mademoiselle.  They  say  to  me  it  is  worse  than 
a  convent.  You  are  too  young  and  beautiful  to 
shut  yourself  out  of  the  world." 

"  My  chief  reason  for  going,  madame,  is  that 
it  costs  little  to  live  there." 

**  But,  moil  amic,  you  will  not  be  very  poor  ; 
you  have  been  with  me  nearly  a  year  and  have 
not  touched  a  sou  of  your  salary.  I  shall  pay 
you  this,  and  you  will  also  allow  me  to  continue 
the  same  until  you  find  a  congenial  occupation." 

"  You  are  mojt  kind,  dear  madame,  but  I  must 
leave  here  poor  as  I  came  ;  I  cannot  accept  even 
the  beautiful  dresses  and  presents  you  have 
heaped  upon  me." 


i! 


♦ 


■-''^^mmn' 


diiiiHI 


176 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


^^  Ma  foi  !  I  do  not  understand  you,  madennoi- 
selle ;  you  are  much  more  difficult  than  the  church, 
for  it  takes  what  I  give  it  without  a  grimace." 

"  Perhaps  the  Roman  Church  does ;  I  know 
their  motto  is   *  The  end  justifies  the  means.'  " 

''Mais  j>7,  not  only  the  Catholic  Church,  but 
the  Protestant  Church  is  just  as  glad  to  take  all  I 
give  it,  and  ask  no  questions.  When  that  little 
Anglican  church  was  building  on  Avenue  de 
TAlma  I  sent  them  a  liberal  contribution,  I  am 
no  bigot,  and  give,  when  I  have  it,  to  both  Jew 
and  Gentile — no  matter  who,  provided  it  does 
good." 

"  No  one  knows  better  than  I,  madame,  how 
generous  and  kind  you  are  to  all,  especially  the 
poor  and  suffering ;  and  though  I  cannot  accept 
your  money,  I  shall  take  with  pleasure  all  the 
love  you  can  spare  me.  Indeed,  you  have  been 
very  good  to  mc ;  believe  me,  I  shall  never  forget 
it." 

After  a  few  more  words  Dorothy  went  to  her 
room  to  prepare  for  her  departure.  The  latter 
part  of  the  afternoon  she  rang  for  Daniel  to  help 
cord  her  boxes.  He  seemed  astonished  at  the 
request  and  asked  if  mademoiselle  were  going 
away.  Upon  being  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
his  countenance  assumed  that  expression  the 
French  call  fui,  as  he  remarked,  "  Perhaps  made- 
moiselle has  heard  something?" 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


177 


When  the  cab  was  at  the  door  and  Dorothy 
ready  to  go,  the  princess  came  to  bid  her  a 
last  farewell.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  swollen, 
her  eyes  were  red  from  weeping.  This  so  touched 
Dorothy  that,  instead  of  extending  her  hand  for 
her  to  shake,  she  threw  herself  weeping  into  her 
arms.  The  princess  clasped  her  tightly,  kissed 
her  on  both  cheeks,  h  la  Fran^aisc,  then  drawing 
from  her  finger  a  magnificent  ring,  said  : 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  will  not  refuse  this  ;  it  is 
worthy  of  you.  It  was  given  me  by  a  good  man, 
in  memory  of  his  son  that  I  saved  from  ruin  at 
Monte  Carlo.  Will  you  wear  it  always  as  a  sou- 
venir of  a  friend  who  will  watch  over  you  as  long 
as  she  is  in  this  world  ?  Alas  !  inon  pauvrc  enfant 
will  sorrow  for  you,  mademoiselle,  when  he  returns 
from  school  this  afternoon  and  hears  that  you 
are  gone.  Had  you  stayed,  who  knows  what  you 
might  have  done  for  Alexis  and  me  ?  But  I  sup- 
pose it  was  too  much  to  expect  of  you  to  occupy 
yourself  with  us.  We  are  not  worth  sacrificing 
name  and  position  for,"  she  added,  in  a  broken 
voice. 

Ere    Dorothy   found  words   to    reply,  she  was 

gone. 
12 


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178 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

«»****#*       "  who 

Compound  for  sins  they  are  inclined  to, 

By  damning  those  they  have  no  mind  to." — Hndibras. 

A  FEW  minutes'  drive  brought  her  to  the 
"  Home."  What's  in  a  name?  Oh!  with  what  a 
desohitc,  woe-begone  feeling  Dorothy  entered  the 
much-betexted  vestibule,  and  mounted  the  much- 
worn  and  scrubbed  staircase  to  the  office  in  the 
second  story  !  Miss  Starr  was  there  behind  the 
desk,  looking  exactly  as    she  did  the  year  before. 

Dorothy  told  her  story  in  a  few  words,  and  asked 
protection  until  she  found  something  to  do.  Miss 
Starr  gazed  at  her  with  the  same  cold,  far-away, 
unsympathetic  look  that  she  had  gazed  at  her  the 
first  time.  In  fact,  she  betrayed  so  little  conscious- 
ness of  her  presence  and  understanding  of  her 
request,  that  Dorothy  had  a  feeling  that  perhaps 
she  had  not  heard  her ;  so,  when  Miss  Starr 
absented,  she  said,  to  make  sure  the  latter  fully 
comprehended  her,  "  You  understand,  Miss  Starr, 
w'.i.Tt  l:i;id  of  a  house  I  came  from  ?  " 

'   V'^s,  I  knew    you  were  living  there,  and  have 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


179 


been  expecting  you  would  call  upon  us  to  get  you 
out  of  it." 

"  I  only  wish  /  had  known  what  the  house  was 
before  going  there,"  Dorothy  rejoined  ;  then  she 
descended  to  the  conciergerie  to  direct  that  her 
boxes  be  taken  to  the  room  assigned  to  her  in  the 
fifth  story. 

Poor  girl  !  she  was  not  even  to  have  the  luxury 
of  a  room  to  herself,  there  being  only  some  half- 
dozen  simple  ones  in  the  mansard,  and  these  bein^ 
eagerly  seized  upon  by  the  permanent  boarders. 
The  one  Dorothy  was  to  occupy  was  long  and 
narrow;  French  windows  opposite  the  door ;  two 
little  corner  washstands  on  either  side  of  the 
window;  three  corner  shelves  above  each;  two 
iron  bedsteads  with  white  counterpanes  ;  a  strip 
of  carpet  in  front  of  each  ;  two  curtain  wardrobes, 
one  on  either  side  of  the  door ;  a  small  mantel 
with  a  glass  above  it  ;  texts  and  rules  hung  here 
I'lnd  there  upon  the  walls — and  you  have  an  in- 
ventory of  the  chamber  for  which  Dorothy  had 
voluntarily  exchanged  her  last  beautiful  apart- 
ments. Everything  was  scrupulously  clean,  and 
Dorothy  thought  herself  content,  buoyed  up  by 
that  complacency  or  self-satisfaction  one  experi- 
ences when  makincT  a  mart\'r  of  one's  self. 

Suddenly  there  burst  into  the  room  without 
the  least  ceremony  a  short,  stout,  flaxen-haired 
girl,  of  about  twenty  or  thereabouts,  neither  pretty 


1 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


nor  ugly,  chiefly  noticeable  for  her  pink-and-white 
complexion,  large  mouth,  and  protruding  teeth. 
The  latter  feature  is  thought  by  foreigners  to  be 
characteristic  of  P^nglishwomen.  The  intruder 
introduced  herself  in  the  following  free-and-easy 
fashion  : 

"  Oh  !  pardon  ;  I  did  not  know  anybody  was 
here.  When  did  you  come?  I  see  by  your 
boxes  you  are  Miss  Pembroke.  I  am  Alice  Jef- 
freys, as  you  will  see  by  mine,  if  you  will  take  the 
trouble  to  lift  that  drapery  and  inspect  them.  I'm 
your  room-mate,  and  it  gives  me  no  end  of  pleas- 
ure to  welcome  a  fellow-sufferer  to  my  den  and 
extend  the  hospitality  of  the  house  to  a  country- 
woman. I  suppose  you  came  here  as  a  dernier 
ressort ;  they  all  do.  It  ought  to  be  called  a 
refuge,  not  a  home.  I  am  governessing,  though 
I  i\o  not  disdain  turning  my  hand  to  whatever 
turns  up.     What's  your  specialty?" 

"  Nothing,"  Dorothy  replied. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  looking  for?  " 

*'  Lessons,  if  I  can  find  them." 

"  Then  you  are  governessing  too  !  You'll  find 
no  end  of  companionship  in  that  line.  I'll  in- 
troduce you  to  the  nice  ones  ;  the  others  will 
introduce  themselves  fast  enough.  By  the  way, 
wouldn't  you  like  a  dish  of  tea?  It's  only  a  little 
after  five,  anrl  it  won't  be  too  bad  yet.  It  always 
stands  till  six  under  the  cosy." 


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KERCIIIF.FS  TO  HUNT SOVI.S. 


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**  Yes,  I  should  like  a  cup  above  all  thinj^s  ;  it's 
an  age  since  I  have  tasted  such  tea  as  we  have  at 
home." 

"  Well,  you'll  not  find  better  tea  in  Paris  than 
we  have  here.  They  get  it  over  from  England  in 
chests.  Come  along  ;  no  need  to  dress  or  put  on 
frills  ;  you  look  awfully  sweet — far  too  nice  for 
the  place.  Most  of  the  girls  pack  up  their  good 
clothes  while  they  are  here,  and  wear  old  duds. 
One  moment,  though,  before  we  go  down  ;  here's 
a  piece  of  advice  from  an  old  stager  ;  I'll  give  it 
gratis,  and  you  can  take  it  for  what  it  is  worth. 
Don't  you  tell  all  you  know.  They'll  ply  you 
with  questions,  pump  you  dry,  if  you  will  let 
them,  and  twist  the  answers  to  suit  themselves, 
so  that  they'll  know  more  of  your  business  than 
you  do  yourself  before  the  evening  is  over." 

"  Who  will  ?     Who  are  *  they  '  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  old  cats  and  dogs.  But  hush — sh  — 
sh — here  we  are  ;"  and  pushing  open  a  door  Miss 
Jeffreys  introduced  her  companion  into  a  room 
on  the  first  floor,  exactly  corresponding  in  length, 
height,  breadth,  mantel,  window,  and  door,  to 
their  bedroom  on  the  fifth. 

On  the  floor  was  a  square  of  green  carpet,  upon 
which  stood  a  long  table  covered  with  a  red  cloth. 
At  the  end  of  the  table  was  a  tray  holding  the 
tea-service  ;  one  of  the  boarders,  an  old-fashioned 
gentlewoman   with  gray  curls  and  cap,  officiated. 


J  i 


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182 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


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Here  were  gathered  as  many  women,  of  all  sizes 
and  ages,  as  the  room  could  hold,  an  overplus 
having  taken  refuge  in  a  small  a. 'joining  room, 
which  Dorothy  afterwards  found  war.  commonly 
used  for  studying  or  writing  in,  the  babel  in  the 
larger  room  making  it  quite  impossible  to  even 
read  there.  A  steamer-chair  took  the  place  of 
sofa,  and  on  it  a  young  woman  lay  stretched  at 
full  length. 

The  tea  was  delicious,  quite  up  to  Miss  Jeffreys' 
encomium  ;  but  for  the  bread,  which  was  in  great 
slices  in  a  willow  basket,  there  was  no  butter. 
One  of  the  girls  present  had  a  small  bit  wrapped 
in  white  paper,  evidently  just  bought,  which  she 
shared  with  her  particular  chums. 

Dorothy  drank  her  tea  standing,  then  beat  a 
hasty  retreat  before  the  catechists  had  well  mus- 
tered their  forces.  There  had  been  a  slight  skir- 
mish, however,  such  as,  "  Did  you  come  from 
England  last  night?"  "How  long  have  you 
been  in  France  ? "  "  Do  you  intend  remaining 
here?"  "Are  you  studying  or  teaching?"  etc., 
etc. — all  of  which  questions  Dorothy,  being  on  her 
guard,  skilfully  parried.  Miss  Jeffreys  soon  fol- 
lowed her  upstairs,  and  helped  her  stow  away  her 
boxes  and  arrange  pictures  and  ornaments  on  the 
walls  and  mantelpiece. 

Dorothy  Pembroke  was  one  of  those  women 
who  immediately  stamp  their  surroundings  with 


KEh'CIIIEFS  TO  JIUXT  SOULS. 


1S3 


their  own  personality.  Ilcr  intimate  friends  fre- 
quently made  sucli  remarks  as  "  Dorothy's  been 
here  ;  just  look  at  that  sofa  ;  no  one  else  piles  the 
cushions  up  in  that  way  ;  "  or  "  That's  Dorothy's 
hat ;  anybody  else  would  look  like  a  guy  in  it  ; 
it's  just  Dorothy  all  over."  It  was  not  the  trifles 
she  scattered  about  the  room  that  gave  the  home- 
like appearance,  but  the  arrangement,  the  know- 
ing where  to  place  them  to  the  best  advantage. 

"Oh,  don't  for  the  life  of  you  move  thit  text!" 
cried  her  companion  ;  "  it  is  a  capital  crime  here 
to  commute  the  sentence  passed  upon  those  un- 
fortunate sinners;  the  higher  powers  have  decided 
that  hang  they  must  until  not  a  vestige  is  left. 
Should  any  one  take  them  down  she  certainly 
would  be  hanged  in  their  place.  The  law  of  the 
house  is,  '  An  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a 
tooth,'  I  would  have  you  know." 

Dorothy  laughingly  yielded,  but  adroitly 
evaded  the  letter  of  the  law  by  hanging  her 
pictures  over  some  and  draping  others. 

At  seven  the  dinner-gong  sounded.  The 
dining-room,  a  large  apartment  divided  by  cur- 
tains into  two  parts,  was  in  the  basement.  While 
the  governesses  and  students  were  having  their 
dinner  in  one  compartment,  the  servants,  who  are 
also  admitted  to  the  house  while  out  of  situations, 
were  having  tea  in  the  other.  There  was  little 
furniture  in  either,  except  tables,  chairs,  and  the 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


ubiquitous  texts.  The  dinner  was  what  one 
might  expect  from  the  small  sum  asked  for  board  ; 
it  was  the  usual  English  lower  middle-class  one  : 
soup,  a  roast — the  joints  being  cut  on  the  table, 
not  quite  enough  of  them — potatoes,  and  cabbage  ; 
the  third  course  a  hot  substantial  pudding.  The 
service  was  fairly  good,  and  all  beautifully  clean. 
Those  only  had  napkins  who  provided  them. 

It  was  all  very  strange  to  Dorothy,  and  she  felt 
more  alone  than  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life 
before,  sitting  at  that  long  table,  surrounded  by 
some  forty  strangers,  all  women,  and  all  intent, 
like  herself,  upon  one  object — to  get  a  living,  or 
at  least  make  both  ends  meet.  As  she  looked  at 
them,  Dorothy  thought  she  could  detect,  as  a 
ruling  passion,  the  love  of  money,  the  haste  to  be 
rich,  in  many  of  their  faces  ;  and  she  wondered  how 
soon  her  countenance  would  show  it,  and  if  she 
would  ever  so  far  forget  herself  in  her  eagerness, 
hurry,  and  greed  as  they  did  ;  this  last  trait  was 
very  observable  in  several.  The  meat  was  carved 
at  the  ends  of  the  table  by  the  housekeeper  and 
one  of  the  ladies  in  charge  ;  when  a  sufficient 
quantity  was  on  a  plaie  it  was  sent,  presumably, 
to  the  person  farthest  from. the  carver,  but  as  the 
plate  was  passed  from  one  to  the  other,  it  was 
carefully  scrutinized,  and  if  thought  to  be  a  par- 
ticularly nice  cut  was  detained  by  the  one  who 
fancied  it. 


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KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


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Dinner  over,  all  who  could,  crowded  into  the 
little  sitting-room  to  gossip  until  prayers  at  nine; 
the  others  went  directly  to  their  rooms,  Dorothy 
among  the  latter,  and  as  she  was  tired  she  turned 
into  bed,  but  was  far  too  excited  to  sleep.  When 
Miss  Jeffreys  crept  softly  in  about  half-past  nine, 
Dorothy  called  out,  *'  Pray  light  your  candles  ; 
I'm  awake." 

"I'm  no  end  glad  you  are,  for  I  want  to 
talk.  But  my!  ain't  you  a  brave  one?  Fancy 
going  to  bed  before  prayers,  and  the  first  night 
too  !  " 

"  Why  not,  if  I  am  tired  ? "  Dorothy  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Oh,  being  tired  is  no  excuse  at  all  ;  prayers 
should  refresh  you  if  you  are  in  a  state  of  grace, 
my  dear." 

"  Well,  I'm  afraid  I  am  far  from  being  in  such 
a  state.  But  tell  me,  does  everybody  go  to 
prayers,  sick  or  well  ?     Are  none  exempt  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  are  some  naughty,  bad  girls  like 
your  humble  servant  who  don't  go  oftener  than 
they  can  help  ;  but  they  are  in  disgrace.  Just  let 
me  give  you  a  word  in  season  ;  you'll  never  be 
a  favorite  with  the  powers  that  be  if  you  don't 
religiously  attend  prayers." 

'*  Oh,  if  that's  all  the  penalty,  I  shall  only  go 
when  I  feel  in  the  praying  mood." 

''Tant  pis  pour  vous  !    But,  I  say,  if  you  could 


i  i| 


iU> 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


only  have  heard  the  cats  and  dogs  discuss  you 
to-night !  it  was  as  good  as  a  play.  Do  you  care 
to  hear  what  they  said  ?  " 

"  No,  it  can't  be  of  any  consequence ;  not  one 
of  thorn  knows  me." 

"That's  just  what  I  told  Julia  Mitchell,  but 
there  are  a  lot  of  them  who  think  they  know 
you,  the  old  cats  !  " 

'*  Why  do  you  call  them  cats?" 

"  Because  they  are.  We  are  a  menagerie,  a 
collection  of  animals  who  have  sought  refuge  in 
an  ark ;  but  the  cats,  dogs,  and  pigs  predominate. 
Mark  my  words,  and  when  you  know  us,  see  if 
I  have  not  analyzed  them  scientifically.  The 
cats  are  those  who  live  here  always — have  the 
single  rooms  in  the  garret.  They  don't  care  a  fig 
for  anybody  ;  it's  the  place  that  attracts  them. 
You  should  hear  them  purr  just  like  cats  around 
the  housekeeper  and  superintendent  for  the  tid- 
bits ;  it's  all  cupboard  love,  and  I  can  see  throUj;h 
it.  The  dogs  are  more  numerous ;  I  belong  to 
that  order:  they  come  and  go,  and  are  always 
barking,  growling,  and  snarling;  they  growl  when 
they  leave,  and  growl  when  they  come  back ;  the 
most  of  them  are  curs ;  it  is  seldom  that  a 
thoroughbred  finds  his  way  here,  and  when  he 
does  he  doesn't  stay  long;  he  is  not  used  to 
being  chained.  The  pigs  I  will  leave  you  to  find 
out    for  yourself;    they   are   a   distinct    species. 


\ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


187 


Don't  confound  them  with  the  foxes  or  geese,  of 
which  we  have  a  plentiful  " 

"A  truce,  a  truce,  Miss  Jeffreys;  you  have 
given  me  quite  enough  for  one  dose.  Who 
would  imagine,  to  look  at  you,  that  such  a  fresh, 
blooming  exterior  " 

"  It's  the  life,  and  the  struggle  to  live  ;  it's  an 
eye-opener,  I  can  tell  you.  But  here  goes  the 
light ;  we  have  to  be  economical  of  candles  ;  this 
is  mine,  you  can  buy  the  next  one.  The  inmates, 
you  know,  provide  their  own  lights.  Good-night. 
Be  sure  you're  up  in  time  for  prayers  to-morrow 
morning,  if  you  want  to  get  on  here." 


.1 


I 


\ 


w 


i88 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


"  Alone  I — that  worn-out  word, 
So  idly  spoken,  and  so  coldly  heard ; 
Yet  all  that  poets  sing  and  grief  hath  known 
Of  hopes  laid  waste,  knells  in  that  word — A  lone  1  " 

—B.  Lytton. 

After  an  early  breakfast  next  morning,  Doro- 
thy set  out  to  visit  the  educational  bureaus  again, 
with  the  exception  of  Madame  Garotte's,  which 
she  gave  a  wide  berth.  She  returned  to  the 
"  Home  "  late  in  the  afternoon,  utterly  worn  out 
and  disheartened,  sick  with  fatigue  and  faint  with 
hunger,  for  she  had  taken  no  lunch.  She  found 
they  knew  at  almost  every  agency  that  she  had 
been  living  for  the  past  year  with  the  Princess 
Nesvitsky;  she  found,  too,  that  they  thought  i  one 
the  less  of  her  for  it,  most  treating  her  with  more 
civility  than  upon  her  previous  visits,  as  if  they 
thought  her  of  some  consequence  now.  Others 
asked  her  openly  why  she  left  the  princess,  and 
thought  her  a  fool  for  her  scruples,  assuring  her 
she  would  never  find  anything  better  to  do  now 
that  she  had  once  lived  in  such  a  house.  Several 
advised  her  to  try  for  a  soubrette's  place  on  the 


\ 

\ 

\ 
I 

I 

! 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS.  189 

Stage,  but  not  one  little  word  of  encouragement 
to  do  right  did  any  of  them  give  her.  There 
were  but  two  courses  open  to  her,  either  to  marry 
Count  de  Gallerand,  or  to  go  back  to  America 
and  Harry  Alexander.  Her  heart  dictated 
the  first,  her  reason  the  second.  For  some  time 
past  her  mental  state  had  been  one  of  defiance 
at  Count  de  Gallerand's  attitude  towards  her; 
her  very  susceptibility  to  his  influence  she  used 
as  an  argument  against  him  ;  called  it  per- 
sonal magnetism  that  fascinated  her  with  him, 
as  the  little  bird  is  fascinated  by  the  cat. 
Once  out  of  reach  of  his  eye,  and  her  reason 
asserted  itself  again.  She  was  forever  debating 
with  herself  against  herself.  Sometimes  a  fierce 
battle  raged  within  her,  which,  when  terminated, 
left  her  exhausted  but  unconquered.  She  acknowl- 
edged to  herself  that  he  was  the  most  bewitch- 
ing of  Mercurys,  eloquence  included,  qualities 
adorable  in  a  lover ;  but  she  had  her  doubts  if 
they  were  the  most  desirable  in  a  husband.  In 
their  last  interview,  however,  she  had  seen  another 
side  of  his  character;  he  had  shown  her  he  had  a 
heart.  She  no  longer  feared  his  playing  with  her 
affections,  but  thought  she  would  be  perfectly 
happy  if  he  loved  her  as  she  did  him.  She  was 
continually  contrasting  him  with  Harry  Alex- 
ander. "  How  different  the  two  men  are ! "  she 
would  muse.    "  Some  one  has  said  that  delicacy 


IQO 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


in  man  is  the  instrument  which  most  effectively 
gains  a  woman's  heart  ;  that  is  not  my  idea. 
Harry  has  it  in  a  high  degree,  but  it  docs  not 
draw  me  in  the  way  audacity  and  force  do  ;  the 
latter,  however  misdirected,  has  a  great  charm  for 
me.  What  a  model  husband  Harry  would  make 
if  one  could  only  give  up  all  romance  and  settle 
down  to  be  a  Joan  to  his  Darby  !  "• 

The  upshot  of  all  this  was  that  she  wrote  that 
night  the  following  letter  to  Harry  Alexander  : 

"  English  Home,  Paris. 
"My  dear,  dear  Old  Boy: 

*'  I  must  say  that  you  have  kept  with  exem- 
plary exactitude  the  promise  I  extorted  from  you 
of  not  writing  to  me  until  I  first  wrote  you  ;  I 
don't  fancy  you  find  it  so  difficult,  after  all.  En 
passant,  perhaps  you  would  like  to  know  that  I 
am  alive.  But,  joking  apart,  Harry,  I  am  only 
half  alive  ;  I  am  homesick  and  heartsick  ;  I  have 
made  a  terrible  fiasco  of  everything  over  here. 
Don't  you  want  mc  back  again  ?  I'll  take  a  small 
house  and  teach  Hilda,  just  as  I  did  in  the  old 
happy  days  before  love  came  in  to  disturb  the 
harmony.  You  know,  Harry,  you  are  the  very 
best,  in  fact,  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the  world. 
I  used  to  tell  you  everything,  dear  father  confes- 
sor;  I  am  going  to  confess  now.  Fate  has  thrown 
in  my  way  a  man  who  admires  me,  I  know  ;  he 
has  not  yet  asked  me  to  marry  him,  but  I  am 
certain  he  is  only  waiting  for  a  chance,  and  I 
want  you  to  take  me  away  before  he  gets  it.  I  am 
very  brave  when  I  am  out  of  his  sight,  but  I  am 


nl^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


191 


/ 


just  like  putty  when  I  am  with  him  ;  and  now, 
Harry,  thou[^h  I  love  this  man  well  enough  to  die 
for  him,  1  do  not  trust  him  well  enough  to  marry 
him.  Why  is  it  that  I  trust  you  so  implicitly  as 
the  soul  of  honor,  but  do  not  love  you,  while  him 
I  love,  but  do  not  trust  ?  Is  it  because  he  has 
not  the  faintest  notions  of  religion — is  a  free- 
thinker, like  the  majority  of  men  in  Europe?  Of 
course,  he  is  too  gentlemanly  to  scoff,  and  too 
lazy  to  argue  ;  but  he  is  innocent  of  all  belief  or 
theories ;  his  motto  seems  to  be,  '  Let  us  live  and 
eat,  for  to-morrow  we  die.'  By  the  way,  my 
opinion  of  human  nature  has  not  risen  since 
coming  abroad.  Do  you  remember  how  you  used 
to  chaff  me  about  beinj^  a  sceptic  ?  I  am  quite 
cured  now  of  any  tendcni  v  that  way.  I  see  only 
too  clearly  what  individual:-;  and  nations  would 
become  without  Cliri.tiiinity ;  nothing  else  can 
take  its  place ;  there  is  no  other  adequate  motive 
to  check  the  impulses  of  unbridled  passions.  It 
is  a  trite  saying,  often  repeated,  that  the  Catholic 
Church  has  had  its  day  ;  whether  that  be  so  or 
not,  it  has  done  a  noble  work  in  the  past  in  check- 
ing man's  criminal  nature  and  curbing  his  passions. 
What  the  philosopher's  world  without  God  would 
be  I  often  wonder.  I  know  you  will  write  me, 
Hal,  as  soon  as  you  read  this.  I  shall  count  the 
days  impatiently  until  I  get  your  answer.  I  sorely 
need  some  friendly  aid  to  keep  my  good  resolu- 
tions. Please  give  my  love  and  the  enclosed  note 
to  Hilda.  Good-bye.  With  a  heart  full  of  love 
for  yourself,  my  dear  Harry, 

"  Believe  me  now,  as  of  old, 
"  Your  sincere  and  not  luif^ratcfu/  friend, 

"  Dorothy  Pembroke." 


192 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Her  letter  written,  she  gave  it  to  Miss  Jeffreys, 
who  offered  to  post  it,  with  a  letter  of  her  own, 
at  the  tobacconist's  around  the  corner,  and  then, 
as  it  would  be  a  month  at  least  before  she  could 
get  an  answer,  Dorothy  decided  to  think  no  more 
about  it. 

Day  succeeded  day  with  unvarying  monotony 
at  the  "  Home,"  where  the  power  of  making  one 
feel  physically  and  mentally  wretched  was  unsur- 
passed. Dorothy  had  all  her  life  until  now  lived 
very  much  upon  flattery ;  she  had  always  been 
attended  by  some  satellite  willing  to  do  her  least 
behest.  This  had  got  to  be  second  nature,  the 
atmosphere  in  which  she  moved  and  breathed ; 
she  expected  it,  was  wretched  without  it. 

In  the  "  Home  "  she  had  no  friends  among  the 
boarders  except  her  room-mate  and  the  gentle 
lady  who  had  poured  out  tea  on  the  day  of  her 
arrival.  Alice  Jeffreys  called  the  latter  an  old 
tabby,  the  mother  of  all  the  other  cats,  but 
Dorothy  didn't  agree  with  her.  Mrs.  Henry  was 
of  a  good  English  county  family;  her  father, 
a  colonel  in  the  artillery.  She  had  seen  a  great 
deal  of  the  world,  and  moved  in  the  best  society 
when  young ;  had  been  presented  at  court,  both  at 
St.  James  and  the  Tuileries.  Now  a  widow,  poor, 
and  long  past  sixty,  she  was  earning  her  daily 
bread  as  a  music-teacher;  and  with  it  all  was  the 
grand    lady,   graceful    and    charming.     Dorothy 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


»93 


pitied  her  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  and  loved 
her  from  the  very  first  moment  she  saw  her.  The 
hking  was  mutual ;  Mrs.  Henry  made  much  of 
her,  and  mothered  her  in  her  sweet  way. 
Dorothy's  one  enjoyment  at  the  •'  Home"  was  to 
sit  an  hour  or  two  with  her  and  hear  her  talk  of 
bygone  days. 

A  Uttle  incident  happened  about  this  time 
that  gave  her  a  secret  pleasure,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  annoyed  her.  An  iron  balcony  extended 
around  the  fifth  story  of  the  home,  as  was  also 
the  case  with  all  the  houses  in  the  neighborhood. 
Dorothy's  window  opened  out  upon  the  balcony, 
and  one  morning,  as  she  was  standing  idly  there, 
she  was  startled  by  a  bright  light  passing  over 
her;  she  fancied  it  came  from  a  mirror  some  one 
in  the  street  was  carrying,  but  as  it  remained 
stationary  she  was  not  long  in  tracing  the  light  to 
the  opposite  house.  Looking  up,  she  encountered 
Count  de  Gallerand's  roguish  face,  as  he  stood  on 
a  balcony,  turning  a  glass  to  attract  her  attention. 
He  joined  her  that  day  when  she  went  out,  and 
told  her  he  had  taken  rooms  across  the  street  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  seeing  her.  The  meshes  of 
Fate  were  drawing  closer  and  closer,  and  Dorothy 
prayed  all  the  harder  for  strength  to  hold  out 
until  she  got  an  answer  to  her  letter  ;  but,  alas! 
this  mental  anxiety  proved  too  much  for  her,  and 
a  few  days  after  she  was  too  ill  to  rise.  The  doctor 
13 


\ 


\ 


194 


KERCHIEFS  TO  //V.VT  SOULS. 


called  in  prescribed  quiet  and  rest  ;  so  she  was 
moved  into  the  sanitarium,  a  comfortable  room 
next  her  own,  where  she  could  be  by  herself,  and 
waited  upon  by  a  nurse  attached  to  the  "  Home." 
It  was  slow  work,  and  quite  a  month  before 
Dorothy  felt  anything  like  her  old  energy  return. 
But  she  did  not  regret  her  illness  ;  there  were 
many  things  revealed  to  her  then  little  dreamed 
of  before.  One  was  the  kindness  underlying  the 
most  repellent  exteriors.  Count  de  Gallerand 
had  evidently  heard  of  her  illness,  for  not  a  day 
passed  without  flowers  and  fruit  being  left  at  the 
conciergerie  for  her.  Seven  weeks,  and  not  a 
word  had  she  heard  from  Harry.  Could  it  be 
possible  that  he  was  going  to  give  her  up — leave 
her  to  her  fate  and  Count  de  Gallerand?  It 
looked  very  like  it.  "  If  he  forsakes  me,  I  have 
not  a  friend  in  the  world,"  she  sorrowfully  thought. 
"  I  wonder  if  God  is  teaching  me  to  leave  it  all, 
with  childlike  trustfulness,  to  Him  ?  I  have  made 
myself  ill  by  worrying ;  I  shall  try  hereafter  to 
be  perfectly  passive,  and  to  feel  that  whatever 
happens  is  best.  My  life  need  not  be  null  and 
void  just  because  things  have  not  turned  out  as  I 
hoped,  and  my  life  all  I  planned." 


11 


IPO-^WNI— II  ilUMi 


KEKCniEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


•95 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


' 


"  When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies,  but  in  bat- 
talions."— Sluikesfeare. 

"  Cet  animal  est  tres  mechant ; 
Qiiand  on  I'attaqiie,  il  se  defend." 

•*  I  HOPE  you  are  glad  to  .see  me,  for  I  am  going 
to  sit  with  you  until  dinner-time,"  exclaimed  Alice 
Jeffreys,  as  she  entered  Dorothy's  room  with  a  five 
o'clock  cup  of  tea  and  a  large  slice  of  bread  in  her 
hand. 

"  Dear  Miss  Jeffreys,  you  know  you  are  always 
welcome,"  Do  othy  answered  ;  "  and  to  assure  yc  .1 
of  my  sincerity,  here  is  some  jam,  which  will  make 
your  bread  more  palatable." 

"  Thanks.  I  suppose  I  should  not  have  this  tea 
here  ;  you  know  we  are  not  allowed  to  bring  it 
upstairs,  but  I  thought  I'd  run  the  risk  for  once. 
I'm  savage  to-day,  and  if  I  don't  talk  it  off  with 
you,  I  shall  have  to  quarrel  with  some  one  and  let 
off  steam  in  that  way.  I'm  what  the  Irish  call 
'blue-mouldering  for  want  of  a  bating.'  " 

Dorothy  soon  found  from  her  caustic  remarks 
about  the  Ark  and  the  Animals  that  Alice  was 


196 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


indeed  in  a  truculent  mood,  and  at  length,  feeling 
that  her  ''talk''  had  gone  quite  far  enough,  and 
that  her  n  silence  might  be  taken  for  consent, 
expostulated : 

"  Why,  Miss  Jeffreys,  are  you  so  down  upon  the 
others  in  the  house?  They  have  been  no  end 
kind  to  me  since  I've  been  laid  up." 

"  Have  they?  Well,  Tm  glad  of  it.  I'm  horrid, 
I  know,  and  unreasonable.  I  hate  myself,  so  why 
shouldn't  they  hate  me?  The  fact  is,  we  are  all 
jealous  of  each  other  ;  that  is  why  every  one's  hand 
is  against  every  other  one's  ;  it's  the  house  and 
the  life  that  make  us  so  ;  worry  and  work,  work 
and  worry,  week  in,  week  out,  and  never  a  bit  of 
pleasure.  Oh,  Miss  Pembroke,  you  can't  think 
how  I  long  for  a  change  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  flung 
herself  on  her  knees,  burying  her  head  in  the 
cushions  of  Dorothy's  couch,  and  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

'*  What  is  it,  dear?  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  the 
latter  soothingly  asked,  as  she  softly  stroked  her 
pretty  hair. 

After  a  little  Alice  became  sufficiently  calm  to 
reply  between  her  sobs  :  "  Oh  !  there's  nothing  to 
tell — it  will  be  all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence. 
I'm  a  fool,  I  know  ;  but  to-day's  my  birthday.  It 
seems  such  a  farce.  Why  was  I  born  ?  No  one 
wanted  me  then,  no  one  wants  me  now.  Most 
girls  on  their  birthday  have  a  party  and  presents ; 


f 


KEK CHIEFS  TO  HUXT  SOULS. 


197 


no  one  ever  gives  me  anything.  I  never  went  to  a 
party  in  my  life,  never  had  a  game  of  tennis,  nor 
skated,  nor  rowed,  nor  did  anything  that  other 
girls  of  my  age  do.  Oh  !  I  long  so  for  a  little  fun 
and  pleasure  ;  I'm  only  twenty-three  to-day,  and  I 
feel  like  sixty.  I've  taught  ever  since  I  was  six- 
teen, and  never  once  had  a  holiday.  I've  been  no 
end  of  times  without  work,  but  the  anxiety  is  so 
terrible  then,  one  can't  amuse  oneself  with  a  light 
heart  ;  one  is  too  poor  to  do  it  innocently." 

**  Poor  child,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you  !  "  whispered 
Dorothy.     "  Are  you  an  orphan  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  might  just  as  well  be,  though.  My 
father  was  a  captain  in  the  army.  I  can  just 
remember  him  ;  he  was  awfully  handsome.  I  have 
a  photograph  I'll  show  you,  taken  in  his  court- 
dress  the  day  he  was  presented.  They  say  when 
he  was  young  he  was  wild  ;  at  any  rate  he  ran  off 
with  mamma,  who  was  a  dancer  and  all  the  rage 
at  the  time.  He  sold  out  soon  after,  and  when  I 
was  about  seven  they  went  to  the  Cape,  leaving 
me  at  school.  I  nev^er  saw  him  again  ;  he  died 
some  six  years  after.  Poor  daddy  !  had  he  lived 
I  should  have  gone  to  the  Cape  too.  His  letters 
were  so  sweet  and  full  of  love  ;  he  was  always 
writing  that  he  longed  to  see  his  'wee  Alice,'  and 
was  going  to  send  for  his  '  little  girlie  *  to  come 
out ;  but  he  never  did.  I  was  awfully  cut  up  when 
he    died  ;    there   was    nothing   left    me    then    to 


198 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


look  forward  to,  I  was  so  tired  of  the  school  and 
they  of  me.  Then  mamma  came  home  with  my 
brothers,  but  she  was  wretchedly  poor  and  could 
not  take  me  out  of  school.  She  met  by  chance 
one  of  her  old  admirers,  a  manager  of  a  travelling 
company,  and  married  again,  and,  as  I  had  no 
dramatic  talent,  of  course  he  did  not  want  to  be 
bothered  with  me,  so  I  was  packed  off  to  a  school 
in  Germany  as  pupil-teacher,  giving  English  in 
exchange  for  music.  There  I  remained  until  I 
was  nineteen  ;  since  then  I  have  been  governess- 
ing  pretty  nearly  all  over  the  world,  and,  oh  !  I'm 
so  heartily  sick  of  it,"  she  cried,  with  a  fresh  burst 
of  tears.  "  It  is  so  little  I  want,  I  think  God 
might  give  it  to  me.  I  don't  wish  to  be  rich,  for 
I  am  afraid  I  might  become  mean  and  proud  and 
selfish  like  the  rest,  but  just  for  a  few  pounds  to 
spend  in  lawful  pleasure.  I've  planned  out  over 
and  over  again  what  I  would  do  with  it." 

"  Well,  what  would  you  do  first  if  you  had  it 
now  ?  "  Dorothy  inquired. 

"  Buy  enough  butter  to  go  round  for  a  week," 
Alice  answered,  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
"  Oh,  Miss  Pembroke,  you  have  no  idea  how  I 
loathe  this  place  ,  it  takes  all  the  spirit  out  of  me. 
I  detest  the  charities  of  the  rich  ;  money  is  the 
standard  by  which  you  are  measured  ;  if  you  are 
poor,  they  think  you  have  no  fine  feelings,  are  not 
sensitive,   so   patronize    you,  intrude  upon    your 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


109 


privacy,  give  you  gratuitous  advice  upon  things 
you  know  mucii  more  about  than  they." 

"  We  need  not  mind  that,  Alice  dear,  for  we 
are  in  good  company ;  artists,  musicians,  and 
writers  all  have  to  put  up  with  this  ignorant 
criticism  from  tyros  in  their  art." 

**  Well,  I  do  mind  their  insolence  ;  fancy  our 
not  having  a  key  to  our  bedroom  doors  here,  but 
always  at  the  mercy  of  any  inquisitive  visitor 
who  may  like  to  see  how  '  the  inmates  live  ' ;  it  is 
insupportable.  I  do  not  consider  this  boasted 
charity  a  charity  at  all.  We  pay  enough  for  all 
we  get.  It  reminds  me  of  a  story  I  heard  told 
of  a  man  who  lived  not  far  from  where  I  was  at 
school.  It  seems  that  vessels  were  frequently 
wrecked  on  the  coast  near  by,  and  when  the  poor, 
half-famished  mariners  came  to  his  house  he  in- 
variably gave  them  a  meal  of  hot  boiled  potatoes, 
urging  them  to  eat ;  then,  when  they  were  full  to 
repletion,  he  insisted  upon  their  eating  up  all  the 
skins  they  had  left,  so  that  nothing  should  be 
wasted.  '  You  have  eaten  to  please  yourselves, 
now  you  must  eat  to  please  me,'  he  would  de- 
clare. Was  it  not  brutal  ?  and  is  it  not  a  good 
example  of  much  of  the  refinement  in  what  is 
called  charity  ?  " 

"  But  tell  me,  don't  you  sometimes  have  parties 
here  ?  "  inquired  Dorothy.  "  I  know  they  have  at 
the  Girls'  Friendly  Lodges." 


m 


200 


KEKCHTEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


"  Parties  !  they  are  as  much  like  parties  as  this 
is  lil<c  a  home.  We  are  asked  to  put  on  our  best 
toggery  and  sit  round  a  room  Hke  children,  to  be 
entertained  by  some  swells  who  have  **  kindly  vol- 
unteered their  services."  Grim  amusement  it  is, 
and  the  only  fun  I  find  in  it  is  when  the  enter- 
tainers get  taken  down  a  peg,  which  is  not  an  un- 
usual occurrence,  I  am  happy  to  say.  Such  peo- 
ple mostly  make  fools  of  themselves  when  they 
play  at  being  benevolent.  The  poor  all  see 
through  it,  and  know  it  is  only  to  amuse  them- 
selves they  do  it.  Sometimes  they  want  to  see 
life,  so  visit  the  prisons,  and  homes,  and  other  in- 
stitutions ;  sometimes  they  go  in  for  sisterhoods, 
or  even  do  what  they  call  '  slumming  it  ; '  but  it  is 
always  in  the  way  of  amusement  to  kill  time. 
But  I  can  stand  their  freaks  much  better  than  the 
rot  of  the  so-called  religious  people,  who  insult 
us  because  we  are  poor  by  insisting  we  must  be 
bad,  and  preaching  to  us  on  every  occasion,  both 
in  and  out  of  season.  They  forget  it  was  the 
poor  who  received  Our  Lord  when  He  was  upon 
earth,  and  would  do  the  same  to-day  if  the  rich 
did  not  make  it  almost  impossible  for  them.  Un- 
fortunately there  are  the  same  Pharisees  and 
hypocrites  now  as  then,  laying  upon  us  burdens 
heavy  to  be  borne,  which  they  themselves  will  not 
move  with  one  of  their  fingers.  You  can't  imagine 
how  often  I  have  wanted  a  shilling  and  could  not 


i' 


KERCIIIEIS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


20I 


>i 


I 


\ 


I 

I 


borrow  it ;  not  one  of  those  who  are  so  free  with 
their  advice  would  lend  me  a  penny  should  I  ask 
it.  'WiQ '■  mont-de-pit't^'  \'s,  the  best  friend  I  have 
in  the  world,  and  at  times  I've  been  so  low  that  I 
had  nothing  left  to  take  there  ;  all  the  books  and 
clothes  I  had,  except  those  on  my  back,  were  in 
pawn.  Now  I  must  tell  you  what  upset  me  to- 
day. Some  one  at  the  house  told  me  that  English 
residents  here  often  applied  to  Mrs.  Mothersell, 
the  rector's  wife,  so  I  thought  I'd  call  on  her  and 
try  my  luck.  Good  gracious  !  didn't  she  put  me 
through  my  p's  and  q's !  A  Cambridge  exam,  is 
nothing  to  it,  for  she  catechised  me  as  to  my  be- 
lief into  the  bargain.  The  first  part  I  passed  cred- 
itably, but  the  last  was  a  fearful  set-down  when 
I  told  her  I  diJ  not  attend  any  church  regularly. 
The  upshot  of  it  all  was  that,  as  I  had  no  fixed 
religious  belief,  she  did  not  consider  me  a  proper 
person  to  have  the  charge  of  children,  and  could 
not  conscientiously  recommend  me." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  that  ? "  Dorothy 
inquired. 

"Oh,  I  told  her  that  if  I  did  not  get  something 
to  do  I  should  starve;  upon  which  she  said,  'You 
must  go  home.'  '  But,'  I  objected,  '  I  have  no 
home.'  *  I  understood  you  to  say  you  have  a 
mother  living  ;  she  should  provide  for  you,'  Mrs. 
Mothersell  said.  'Perhaps  she  should,  but  unfor- 
tunately she  does  not ;  she  has  married  again,  and 


202 


KERCHIEFS  TO  J/UA'T  SOOLS. 


has  nothing  of  her  own,*  I  replied.  '  At  all 
events,  you  cannot  stay  here ;  Paris  is  no  place 
for  you.  I  see  that  the  gayety  and  attractions 
have  taken  a  strong  hold  upon  you.  Mr.  Mother- 
sell  has  access  to  funds  provided  by  charitable 
Englishmen  in  Paris  to  send  British  subjects,  out 
of  work,  back  to  England ;  I  will  give  you  a 
third-class  ticket.'  *  But  what  shall  I  do  when 
I  get  back  to  England  ?  Every  door  is  barred 
against  the  poor  and  friendless.  If  I  were  going 
to  a  situation  it  would  be  another  thing,'  I  boldly 
objected.  '  Oh,  I  daresay  you  will  get  on  well 
enough  after  you  get  there,'  she  answered,  then 
added  :  *  You  know  the  ropes  far  better  than  I  do. 
There  are  many  charitable  ladies  in  London  who 
would  interest  themselves  in  your  case  if  you 
made  it  known,  I  have  not  a  doubt.  By  the  way, 
there  is  a  great  demand  at  present  for  servants ; 
why  not  take  a  housemaid's  place?'  'I  would 
rather  throw  myself  into  the  Seine  first,'  I  hastily 
exclaimed.  '  Well,  then,  throw  yourself  into  the 
Seine  if  you  feel  that  you  are  in  a  fit  state  to 
die,'  she  coolly  rejoined,  then  pulled  the  bell-rope, 
saying,  as  she  looked  at  her  watch,  *  I  must  beg 
you  to  excuse  me,  Miss  Jeffreys;  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment at  a  missionary  meeting  this  morning.' 
'  Certainly  !  I  am  only  sorry  I  have  taken  any  of 
your  valuable  time,  Mrs.  Mothersell.'  *  Not  at 
all ;    my    time   is   at    the   disposal   of    suffering 


■am 


Si. 


KERCHIEI'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


!03 


humanity.  Are  you  quite  determined  to  remain 
in  Paris  ?  *  '  Quite,'  I  said,  as  I  bade  her  good- 
day.  Now  do  you  wonder.  Miss  Pembroke,  that 
I  am  sick  and  disgusted  with  Hfe  on  this,  my 
twenty-third  birthday  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  Alice,"  Dorothy  repHed,  in  a  choked 
voice,  as  she  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  "  And 
did  Mrs.  Mothersell  really  tell  you  to  throw  your- 
self into  the  river  if  you  felt  yourself  in  a  fit  state 
to  die?  It  is  too  heartless  to  be  credible  ;  you 
must  have  misunderstood  her." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  had  ;  I  only  remember  it 
too  well ;  every  word  was  burnt  as  if  with  a  hot 
iron  into  my  brain  and  heart.  Queen-Mary-like, 
it  will  be  found  there  upon  my  death.  It  has 
wholly  crushed  and  killed  any  germ  of  faith  I 
may  have  had  in  me.  I  have  tried  to  do  right 
and  live  a  pure,  moral  life  thus  far  ;  why  I  have 
I  don't  know  ;  certainly  not  because  honesty  is 
enjoined  upon  us  as  the  best  policy  by  religious 
people,  nor  from  any  dread  of  hell-fire  with  which 
the  clergy  threaten  the  ignorant,  but  because  I 
had  rather  do  right.  But  I'll  throw  up  the  sponge 
now  ;  it's  no  use  trying.  Some  Christians  believe 
that  there  are  people  born  into  this  world  damned  ; 
I'm  afraid  I'm  one." 

"  Oh  !  don't  say  that,  dear  ;  it  is  too  horrible  to 
utter.  I  am  so  sorry  for  you  ;  but  struggle  on  a 
little  longer  ;  something  is  sure  to  turn  up  for  the 


n 


204 


KF.KCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


better ;  the  darkest  cloud,  you  know,  has  a  silver 
lining." 

'*  Bah !  that's  all  gammon  ;  nothing  good  will  ever 
come  to  me,"  Alice  fiercely  exclaimed.  "  There 
have  been  no  end  of  women  in  this  house  who 
buoyed  themselves  up  with  that  delusion  when 
they  were  young  ;  but  it  never  came  ;  luck  never 
changed  .^r  them.  Now  that  they  are  old  and 
gray-headed  they  float  themselves  with  the  hope 
of  a  better  time  in  the  next  world,  when  they, 
Lazarus-like,  will  have  the  good  things,  and 
the  Dives  will  be  taking  their  turn  at  the  evil, 
and  seeing  how  they  like  it." 

"  And  don't  you  believe  that,  Alice  ? — not  exact- 
ly as  you  have  put  it,  but  that  if  we  do  well,  and 
suffer  in  this  world  for  the  love  of  Christ,  we 
shall  have  our  reward  hereafter  ?  " 

"  No,  not  I  ;  I  have  not  a  particle  of  supersti- 
tion in  my  composition,  I'm  happy  to  say. 
Daddy  didn't  believe  in  it  either;  and  as  for 
mamma,  one  would  hardly  accuse  her  of  being 
religious.  One  thing,  though,  I  must  say  ;  they 
were  not  hypocrites;  they  neither  played  with  relig- 
ion nor  used  it  as  a  cloak  to  cover  wickedness  with. 
Papa  stipulated  when  he  left  me  at  school  that 
I  should  not  be  taken  to  church  except  when  I 
liked.  Don't  think  daddy  was  not  good,  though. 
I  have  a  letter  from  him  written  just  a  month 
before  his  death,  which  is  full  of  good  advice,  and 


KKKCIirEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


205 


which  has  kept  me  no  end  of  times  from  wrong. 
I  wish  I  were  sweet  and  amiable  ;  I  know  I  have 
a  horrid  temper  and  growl  at  everything;  I'm 
just  like  those  men  who,  when  things  go  wrong 
with  them,  if  their  wives  won't  stand  a  beating, 
kick  their  dogs  in  spite,  and  vent  their  ill-humor 
upon  poor  dumb  creatures,  who  turn  and  lick 
the  hands  of  those  who  gave  the  blow.  I  detest 
such  a  nature,  but,  alas !  it  is  mine,  and  that  is 
why  I  am  always  saying  si.ch  hateful  things  of 
others.     I'm  a  brute  that  nobody  loves  " 

"  No,  you  are  nothing  of  the  sort  ;  you  are  a 
dear,  good  girl,  and  I  love  you,  and  it  is  only  a 
habit  you  have  got  into  of  saying  sarcastic  things. 
I  can  easily  see  how  it  grew  upon  you  ;  at  first 
they  were  harmless,  and  you  were  flattered  when 
people  laughed  at  your  smart  and  clever  sayings  ; 
by  and  by  they  became  bitter  and  had  a  sting  in 
them,  and  you  made  enemies.     Was  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  because  I  am  what  I  am  ;  I've  dis- 
sected myself  bit  by  bit.  I  believe  in  heredity, 
don't  you  ?  I've  my  father's  love  of  sports,  and 
his  artistic  and  fastidious  tastes  for  pictures,  music, 
and  nice  people,  combined  with  my  mother's  in- 
dependence, communism,  and  hate  of  aristocracy, 
increased,  I  fancy,  from  my  father's  people  never 
having  acknowledged  her.  It's  curious,  though, 
how  this  anarchism  crops  out  in  me.  For  days 
at  a  time  I  am  lawless  and  utterly  reckless  of  con- 


li 


206 


KEKCirrEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


sequences,  dreaming  and  longing  to  make  myself 
the  heroine  of  some  political  adventure.  For  in- 
stance, this  last  week  I  have  not  dared  to  pass 
that  broker's  on  Faubourg  St.  IIonor6  where  the 
notes  and  gold  are  heaped  up  in  the  window,  the 
temptation  to  break  the  glass  and  scatter  them 
among  the  poor  has  been  so  great.  I  know  it  is 
not  reasonable,  and  that  if  it  were  done  the  poor 
would  be  no  better  off ;  yet  it  haunts  me  and 
I  am  constantly  dwelling  upon  it  and  planning 
how  I  can  accomplish  it  without  detection. 
But  you  will  be  horrified.  Miss  Pembroke,  if  I 
lay  my  soul  bare  in  this  way." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  shall  not  ;  I'm  not  a  swell,  but 
a  struggling  fellow-creature  like  yourself  who  can 
feel  for  all  suffering  humanity.  If  it  is  a  comfort 
to  you  to  unburden  yourself  to  me,  pray  do;  our 
troubles  often  are  mere  ghosts  that  vanish  when 
confronted  by  the  light  of  day.  Have  you  any 
other  grievances  ?  " 

*'  Oh  !  heaps ;  it  would  take  a  month,  a  year,  to 
air  them  all.  I'm  just  going  to  inflict  one  more 
on  you,  and  then  I  must  skedaddle.  To  go  back 
to  Mrs.  Mothersell ;  don't  you  think  it  imperti- 
nent of  these  would-be  charitable  people  to  pro- 
pose to  us  lady  teachers,  who  are  highly  educated 
and  often  of  better  families  than  they,  that  we 
should  give  up  our  profession,  at  which  we  have 
studied  and  labored  for  years,  to   make  ourselves 


f 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


207 


proficient  as,  and  become  servants,  household 
drudges  ?  Now,  in  some  houses  it  often  happens 
that,  if  we  are  pretty  and  attractive,  nothing  but 
our  position  being  above  the  domestics  keeps 
us  from  insult  from  the  master  and  his  men 
friends.  What  would  become  of  us  were  we  serv- 
ants, heaven  only  knows.  The  truth  is  that  such 
people  want  to  get  brain  work  with  their  manual, 
and  to  pay  only  for  the  latter.  I  know  lots  of 
people  who  get  their  nursery  maids  to  teach  their 
children,  and  who  boast  of  the  pittance  they  pay 
for  so  much  work." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  crying  shame,"  said  Dorothy  ex- 
citedly ;  "  it  should  be  stopped — the  frightful 
pressure  that  is  brought  to  bear  upon  so  many 
governesses  to  make  them  Jacks-of-all-trades  and 
maids-of-all-work." 

"  Then  fancy,"  continued  Alice,  "  ladies  having 
to  eat  and  associate  with  the  vulgar,  uneducated 
men-servants,  and  having  to  sleep  in  the  garret, 
as  all  the  domestics  in  Paris  do ;  it  is  revolting. 
Those  people  cannot  realize  what  they  are  pro- 
posing to  us  ;  it  is  only  their  own  comfort  and 
ease  they  are  consulting,  not  ours  ;  they  arc 
shrewd  enough  to  know  they  will  be  better  served 
by  educated,  reasoning  gentlewomen  than  by 
the  ignorant  peasant  class  now  employed.  It 
should  be  universally  acknowledged  and  accepted 
that  every  professional  woman-teacher  is  a  lady, 


U 


2o8 


KEKCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


i     1 


il     I 


just  as  it  is  taken  for  granted  that  every  officer  in 
tile  army  and  navy  is  a  gentleman  ;  if  tliat  were 
tile  case  wc  should  be  better  paid,  and  there  would 
not  be  half  the  suffering  there  now  is.  Reforms 
are  needed  badly  enough,  but  not  the  kind  the  idle 
class  or  churches  preach  ;  they  are  on  the  wrong 
tack  cheapening  us.  We  who  are  struggling 
against  the  tide  know  of  what  little  use  to  us 
the  modern  Christian  is;  we  ask  for  bread,  and 
they  give  us  a  stone  ;  they  damn  with  faint  praise 
every  effort  we  make  for  the  bettering  of  the  race. 
Wiio  but  they  have  kept  the  gin-palaces  in  full 
hl.ist  with  their  talk  of  '  a  little  wine  for  the 
stomach's  sake.*  What  rot  it  is  to  preach  con- 
version and  soul-saving  to  poor  starving  wretches 
who  would  do  anything  for  food  or  drink!  It's 
the  old  story, '  Recant,*  *  Abjure  your  idols,'  then 
we'll  see  what  we  will  do  for  you.  The  poor  devil 
recants — and  dies  all  the  same.  If  you  don't 
drown,  we  shall  have  to  burn  you  for  a  witch.'* 

"  Dear  Alice,  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  in 
that  bitter,  uncompromising  way.  I  know  it  is 
very  hard  to  be  generous  and  trusting  when  one 
is  suffering  from  what  we  imagine  is  the  fault 
of  others,  but  we  are  too  apt  to  be  on  the  alert 
to  discover  wrong.  I  admit  with  sorrow  that 
reforms  are  needed  in  all  classes  of  society." 

"  Yes,'*  Alice  eagerly  assented,  "  the  reform  that 
I  want  must  come  from  the  people.     Wouldn*t 


I 


I    I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


209 


t 


t  like  to  be  the  apostle  of  that  doctrine,  to  dis- 
seminate. If  I  had  enough  m(jney,  I'd  start  to- 
morrow on  a  crusade  to  working-women  ;  nothing 
can  be  done  without  organization.  If  we  could 
only  hang  together  we  could  carry  the  world.  It's 
this  distrust  of  each  other  that  does  the  mischief. 
How  can  wc  expect  the  men  io  fight  for  us?  iJut 
of  all  the  crazy  things  I've  yet  heard  of  women 
doing,  the  craziest  is  what  that  Yankee  girl  is 
about,  coining  to  London  selling  flowers,  sweep- 
ing crossings,  and  going  out  to  service.  I  know 
nothing  about  the  first  two,  but  if  she  doesn't 
know  more  of  them  than  she  does  about  house- 
maids, she  had  better  shut  up,  at  least  not  write 
to  the  papers.  Of  course  she  found  it  delightful, 
as  she  did  not  have  to  do  it ;  besides,  it  was  not 
the  drudgery  to  her  it  would  be  to  us.  Americans 
do  not  mind  doing  housework  ;  the  greater  part 
keep  but  one  servant — '  help  '  she  is  called  in  New 
England — and  in  consequence  have  to  do  a  lot 
themselves.  I've  seen  ladies  over  there  doing 
their  own  washing,  ironing  and  cooking,  and  think- 
ing it  no  hardship  either !  It's  all  in  the  way 
one  is  brought  up  ;  those  who  are  not  intellectual 
naturally  prefer  manual  to  brain  work.  Then  this 
American  girl  is  not  dependent  upon  what  she 
earns  (that's  the  rub  with  us),  but  can  leave  a  sit- 
uation whenever  she  likes;  in  fact,  she  knows  just 
as  much  of  what  the  real  hardships  of  a  servant's 


2IO 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


life  for  a  sensitive,  refined  woman  would  be  as  the 
society  swells  who  dress  up  in  fancy  costumes,  and 
have  a  stall  at  a  bazaar,  know  of  the  hardships  of  a 
shop-girl's  existence.  As  you  say,  the  rich  are 
always  theorizing,  telling  us  to  do  this  and  not  to 
do  that,  with  as  much  sense  as  the  critics  who 
tell  the  artists  how  to  paint  or  the  sculptors  how 
to  model,  the  musicians  how  to  play  and  the 
authors  how  to  write,  the  actors  how  to  act  and 
young  housekeepers  how  to  keep  house  on  ^loo 
a  year,  or  go  around  the  world  on  ^50.  But  good 
gracious!  there's  the  dressing-bell!  I  hope  I've 
not  tired  you  to  death  ;  it  is  awfully  good  of  you 
to  listen  to  mc  !  I  feel  ever  so  much  better  for 
letting  ofT  steam  ;  it  has  been  kept  pent  up  so 
long  I  thought  I  should  burst." 

"  Growl  to  me  as  often  as  you  like  ;  I  too  feel 
better  for  being  taken  out  of  myself.  It  does  not 
do  to  brood  alone  over  one's  trials.  And  now, 
Alice  dear — I  am  not  going  to  preach — may  I  tell 
you  my  experience?  It  is  that  though  trouble 
and  tribulation  were,  I  thought,  almost  unbearable 
at  the  time,  I  have  been  glad  of  them  afterwards, 
when,  with  the  help  of  God,  I  have  been  victorious. 
It  is  a  truism  that  our  Heavenly  Father  never 
seems  so  near  us  as  when  sorrow  touches  us." 

"  That  may  be  your  experience  ;  you  come  of  a 
religious  stock:  mine  is  quite  different.  When 
I'm  in  sorrow  it's  the  devil  that  puts  in  an  appear- 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


211 


i 


ance.  Don't  shake  your  head  ;  it's  so.  As  I  said 
before,  it's  all  in  the  blood  ;  we  are  not  responsible 
for  the  idiosyncrasies  of  our  parents.  You  believe 
all  •  I  believe  nothing  ;  keep  your  illusions  if  you 
can.  If  I  ever  had  any,  they  have  f^ovvn  ages  ago. 
There  is  but  one  ruling  motive  in  this  world,  and 
that  is  Personal  Interest  ;  it  is  like  a  game  at 
football  ;  woe  to  the  one  upon  whom  the  others 
fall.  Oh,  dear !  I  wish  I  were  married  and  out  of 
this  nunnery.  If  I  only  had  a  husband  and  little 
children,  and  some  place  of  my  own  that  was  a 
real  '  home,'  I'd  not  mind  how  poor  I  was.  I'd 
work  like  a  galley-slave  to  keep  the  pot  boiling. 
Say,  do  you  think  I'll  ever  be  married? — is  there 
a  chance  for  me  in  this  world?  I'd  marry  any 
one  who  asked  me — I  was  going  to  say  a  darkey, 
but  I  wouldn't;  I'll  draw  the  line  there;  but  I'd 
marry  a  Turk  or  a  Moor — or  how  would  it  do  to 
advertise?  There  !  you  are  shocked  ;  I  knew  you 
would  be." 

"  No,  I  am  not  shocked,"  Dorothy  replied,  with 
a  tender  smile.  "  I  understand  you  too  well  to 
take  you  seriously  ;  your  tongue  is  a  very  unruly 
member  ;  if  you  do  not  put  a  bridle  on  it  I  am 
afraid  it  will  run  away  with  you  some  day.  As 
for  advertising  for  a  husband,  or  answering  any 
of  those  matrimonial  advertisements,  do  not 
think  of  it  for  one  moment.  In  this  last  decade 
of   the  nineteenth   century,  marriage  is  not  the 


}•  I 


212 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


I  ^^^^ 


I 


w 


1r  ! 


aim  and  object  of  a  woman's  life,  I  am  happy  to 
say.  Are  you  aware  that  it  is  quite  the  fashion 
for  two  or  three  society  girls  who  have  money,  to 
ckib  together  and  set  up  a  bachelor  establishment 
like  the  men  ?" 

**  Yes,  I  kno'v  all  that,  and  it  is  one  of  the  most 
detestable  fashions  of  our  time !  These  girls, 
born  without  natural  affections,  happening  to 
have  lots  of  pelf,  can  with  impunity  keep  bach- 
elor's hall — do  just  as  they  like.  They  flirt  and 
play  at  love,  but  are  never  caught — not  they  ; 
they  are  far  too  selfish  to  love  anything — man, 
woman  or  child  ;  their  hearts  are  as  dry  as  sum- 
mer dust.  Egoists  of  the  first  water,  what  right 
have  they  to  probe  the  feelings  of  poor  girls  ? — 
girls  so  hungry  and  thirsty  for  love  that  they  give 
themselves  body  and  soul  for  a  kiss.  What  right 
have  they  to  go,  with  their  dry  eyes,  into  the 
rescue  Homes  and  preach  to  women  there,  when 
they  have  not  a  conception  of  the  temptation 
brought  to  bear  upon  these  poor  creatures  ?  No, 
let  them  go  to  the  fast  society  men  and  try  their 
powers  of  persuasion  on  them,  and  stop  this  fear- 
ful traffic  in  white  slaves.  Which  of  the  two, 
Miss  Pembroke,  do  you  think  the  best  woman, 
she  who  marries  for  position  and  a  home,  who 
never  felt  a  spark  of  love  and  never  wished  for  a 
little  child  of  her  own,  and  who,  when  it  comes, 
does  not   welcome  it,  but   is  sorry   to   have  the 


%\ 


w^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


213 


trouble  of  looking  after  it,  so  gives  it  out  to 
nurse,  then  leaves  it  with  servants  until  it  is  old 
enough  to  put  at  boarding-school — anything  to 
get  rid  of  the  responsibility  of  motherhood  ;  or 
she  who  hungers  and  thirsts  after  love  to  such  a 
degree  that  she  yields  to  the  first  villain  who 
tempts  her,  and  when  her  baby  comes,  rejoices 
because  a  child  is  born  into  the  world,  and  that 
she  is  a  mother — no  matter  how  ?  My  instincts  tell 
me  that,  if  anything  in  the  world  is  divine,  it  is 
motherhood.  You,  with  your  orthodox  bringing- 
up,  believe  in  the  commonly  received  idea  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  I  suppose?" 

"  Most  emphatically,  yes  !  You  evidently  do 
not,  from  your  inquiry." 

"  No,  not  in  the  immortality  of  the  individual 
soul.  I  hold  with  those  wdio  believe  our  life  is 
continued  in  the  life  of  our  children,  just  as  the 
grain  of  wheat  is  carried  en  in  the  plant  of  the 
following  year." 

"  That  is  rather  hard  upon  those  who  do  not 
marry  or  have  no  children,"  Dorothy  objected. 

"  Well,  everybody  would  many  and  have  chil- 
dren if  they  felt  as  I  do  ;  but  is  not  that  the 
obvious  deduction  from  St.  Paul's  simile  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  a  novel  one,  I  think." 

"  Well,  to  go  back,  you  have  never  visited  a 
Refuge,  I  suppose  ?  The  love  that  some  of  those 
poor  girls  show  for  their  children  is  most  touch- 


■I 

I  ! 


iff     -i 
•4 


It' 


214 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


ing  ;  often  it  is  strong  enough  to  make  them  love 
the  miserable,  cowardly  father,  who  forsook  them 
in  their  time  of  need.  I  often  go  in  to  see  them, 
and  the  crccJics  too.  I  love  children  dearly ; 
such  pets  as  some  of  them  are  !  I  never  pass  a 
baby,  no  matter  how  dirty  it  is,  without  wishing 
it  were  mine,  to  wash  and  dress  and  hug  and  kiss. 
I'd  welcome  a  baker's  dozen.  Lawless  love 
rather  than  loveless  marriage  is  my  motto." 

"  No,  don't  say  that,  Alice  ;  it  is  too" 

"  Oh,  I'll  take  the  scolding  another  time,  dear 
Miss  Pembroke ;  I  forgot  all  about  dinner,  and 
here  is  your  tray,  with  all  the  delicacies  of  the 
season  on  it,  I  hope.     Bonne  appetite 


<  f> 


i 


\. 


I; 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUXT  SOULS. 


215 


:. 


»' 


• 


\' 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"But  hark  you,  Kate  :  Whither  I  go,  thither  shall  you  go  too  ; 
To-day  will  I  set  forth,  to-morrow  you. 
Will  this  content  you,  Kate  ? 
"  It  must  of  force." — Shakespeare. 

It  was  the  14th  of  July,  the  Republican  fete, 
the  anniversary  of  the  taking  of  the  Bastille. 
How  much  that  word  recalls!  It  had  been  a 
very  hot  day,  and  was  now  a  very  hot  evening. 
Everyone  in  the  house,  not  excepting  nurse,  had 
gone  out  to  see  Paris  illuminated,  special  permis- 
sion having  been  granted  those  who  wished  to 
stay  out  until  eleven.  Dorothy  alone  remained 
within  doors.  Although  pronounced  quite  well 
again  by  her  physician,  and  resuming  once  more 
her  usual  occupations,  she  did  not  feel  quite  up 
to  this  unusual  exertion  ;  so,  after  changing  her 
dinner  dress  for  a  loose  white  wrapper,  she  drew 
the  sofa  up  to  the  open  French  window  and  set- 
tled herself  comfortably  among  the  pillows  in 
such  a  way  that  she  could  see  the  rockets,  Roman 
candles,  and  flashes  of  electric  light  thrown  froir. 
the  tower  Eiffel,  to  the  best  advantage.  How 
long  she  lay  there  she  never  knew.     She  remem- 


k'Vl 


2l6 


KERCIIIKf'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


It  ,-i 


f\     V 


beied  hearing  the  clock  on  the  neigliboring  Greek 
church  strike  nine,  then  must  have  fallen  asleep 
— \vhen  suddenly  she  became  conscious  that 
she  was  cold,  and  trembling  like  a  leaf.  With 
a  supreme  effort  she  sat  up  and  looked 
around  her.  The  room  was  in  shadow  ;  could  it 
be  only  a  nightmare,  a  dream  ?  But  no,  it  was 
too  real.  She  had  an  indefinable  feeling  of  fear; 
something  had  touched  her;  someone  was  in  her 
room.  Too  frightened  to  call,  she  held  her  breath 
and  tried  to  overcome  her  nervous  tremor  by  rea- 
soning, but  with  little  success.  At  last  she  sum- 
moned up  courage  enough  to  make  a  spring  for 
the  door.  Before  she  reached  it  she  was  caught, 
and  she  fell,  almost  fainting,  into  the  arms  of 
Count  de  Gallerand.  Though  too  dark  to  see 
his  face,  she  knew  in  an  instant  it  was  he. 

"  Enfin  te  voila,  ma  hien-aim(fc"  he  whispered, 
as  he  drew  her  close  to  him. 

For  a  few  moments  Dorothy  lay,  panting  and 
exhausted  from  excitement,  in  his  arms  ;  then, 
struggling  to  free  herself,  she  gasped,  "  Oh  !  Count 
de  Gallerand,  where  did  you  come  from  ?  and 
how  in  the  world  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

*'  By  the  balcony,  ma  mie  ;  nothing  simpler.  I 
came  to-night.  Psyche,  on  purpose  to  tell  you  it's 
no  use  trying;  I  have  not  touched  a  brush  since 
you  were  taken  ill  ;  I  can  do  nothing  if  you  are 
not  near  to  inspire  and  encourage  me." 


\ 


--*» 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


!I7 


t 


I 


"  I  fancied  you  were  out  of  town,  monsieur." 

"  So  I  have  been,  off  and  on  ;  7/i(r  mere  insists 
upon  my  passing  the  greater  part  of  the  summer 
with  her  at  the  chateau,  but  this  year  I  can't 
put  through  more  than  a  day  or  two  at  a 
time  without  running  up  to  Paris  to  see  how  you 
are  doing.  Wasn't  I  in  luck  when  I  found 
rooms  vacant  in  the  house  next  to  this  on  the 
same  floor  with  my  darling?  Et  puis,  any  time  I 
can  step  from  one  balcony  to  the  other,  every 
evening  if  you  like.  Psyche." 

"  No,  no !  monsieur ;  I  beg  of  you  not  to  do  it 
again.  Besides,  you  must  not  stop  a  moment 
longer  now ;  some  one  will  be  sure  to  see  us." 

"  No,  they  won't ;  we  are  quite  safe  ;  I  planned 
this  little  surprise  weeks  ago  when  I  was  across 
the  street,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be  frightened 
out  of  it  by  any  imaginary  dangers.  To-night  I 
watched  la  grande  porte  open  and  shut,  and  saw 
every  living  creature  leave  the  house,  even  the  old 
dragon  who  guards  you,  ma  c/itrc,  and  I  intend 
remaining  until  they  return." 

"  Oh  !  Count  de  Gallerand,  you  really  must  not. 
Mon  cher  ami,  if  you  love  me  as  you  say  you  do, 
you'll  not  get  me  into  trouble  with  the  people 
here.  Please — please  go !  do  you  not  see  I  am 
much  too  frightened  to  enjoy  your  visit?"  Doro- 
thy pleaded. 

*'■  N'ayez  pas  peur,  ma  petite,  ma  mie,*   he  whis- 


2l8 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


percd,  as  he  once  more  put  his  arms  around  her 
and  drew  her  to  his  side.  '*  I've  made  a  friend  of 
tlie  concieryje,  and  he  has  promised  to  whistle 
when  the  others  return  or  there  is  danger  ahead, 
so  let  us  be  happy  while  we  may  and  enjoy  the 
present.  It  is  too  lovely  a  night  to  remain  in- 
doors;  come  out  on  the  balcony  and  rehearse 
that  famous  scene  in  '  Romeo  and  Juliet.* 
You  can't  object  to  that ;  it  is  English,  you 
know,"  he  said,  with  the  characteristic  mock- 
ing laugh  that  Dorothy  knew  so  well,  and  was 
powerless  to  resist.  '*  There  now,  this  is  happi- 
ness— heavenly,  ncst-cc  pas  Y  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
bent  his  head  and  kissed  her.  "  Don't  you  love 
me.  Psyche  ;  won't  you  live  with  me  and  let  me 
be  your  protector  and  take  care  of  you,  rather 
than  lead  this  wretched,  lonely  life  you  are  now 
doing?  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  Dorothy 
spoke:  "I  am  not  sure  I  understand  you,  mon- 
sieur. Do  you  mean  to  ask  me  if  I  will  marry 
you  ? 

"  Unfortunately  that  is  just  what  I  cannot  do. 
Hang  it !  a  fellow  cannot  be  married  in  France 
without  the  consent  of  his  parents.  Now,  la  con- 
tesse  ni^re  won't  give  her  consent.  I've  been  urg- 
ing her  for  the  last  three  months,  mais  elle  ne  veut 
rien  entendre,  inaman ;  she  declares  she  would 
rather  see  me  dead  in  my  cofHn." 


KERCH lEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


219 


"In  that  case  lean  be  nothin<^  more  to  you, 
Count  dc  Gallerand,  than  I  now  am,"  Dorothy 
coldly  said,  at  the  same  time  freeing  herself  from 
his  embrace,  and  turning  as  if  to  leave  him. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  don't  go.  Psyche,  till  I  finish  ;  I 
want  to  explain,"  he  cried,  snatching  one  of  her 
hands  to  detain  her.  "Just  listen  a  moment! 
You  English  have  no  idea  how  we  are  brought  up 
to  respect  our  parents*  wishes  in  regard  to  mar- 
riage. With  you,  if  two  young  people  love  each 
other,  that  is  sufficient  for  them  to  get  married 
and  make  a  home  for  themselves  when  and  where 
they  like  ;  they  are  ever  after  independent  of  their 
parents.  With  us  in  France  it  is  quite  different ; 
we  live  in  a  patriarchal  way,  usually  three  gener- 
ations in  one  establishment,  as  the  greater  part 
of  the  young  couples  live  with  their  parents,  either 
on  one  side  or  the  other.  Eh  Men  !  mavian  has 
set  her  heart  upon  my  building  up  the  fortunes 
of  our  family  by  un  marriage  d'argent.  C'est 
ri(Ue  fixe  de  ma  mhre  for  me  to  marry  a  rich  par- 
tie  ;  tu  comprends?  It  is  the  only  one  she  will 
welcome  at  the  chateau." 

"  I  understand  all  perfectly,  monsieur ;  it  is 
quite  right  and  very  laudable  that  you  should 
obey  your  mother." 

"  Oh  !  hang  it  all !  you  don't  mean  that ;  I'm 
not  obeying  my  mother  because  it  is  right,  only  I 
detest  having  a  row.     If  you  love  me,   couldn't 


X\ 


220 


KERCHIEl'S  TO  IIUAT  SOULS 


%■  ■' 

''  1             1 

you  be  happy  with  me  without  diaggint!^  me  to 
churcli  or  before  the  civil  authorities,  Psyche?  I 
myself  am  librc  pcnscur,  and  no  number  of  nup- 
tial benedictions  or  amount  of  ceremony  would 
make  the  union  more  sacred  or  binding  for  me.  I 
will  swear  to  you,  Psyche,  the  day  you  give  your- 
self to  me,  to  love  you,  and /^//  only,  to  my  life's 
end.  Won't  you  trust  to  my  word  and  my  honor  ? 
I  hate  ;ulesand  that  sort  of  thing.  Bind  me  down 
before  a  priest  or  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  six 
to  one  be  for ;  a  month's  over  I'll  be  trying  to 
undo  the  knot.  Et  puiSy  as  a  Protestant,  you  do 
not  regard  marriage  as  a  sacrament ;  what  dif- 
ference in  the  world  does  it  make  to  you  if  a 
minister  or  a  magistrate  mumble  a  few  words  over 
us  ?  You  can  read  all  the  good  advice  in  the 
prayer-book,  and  I'll  worship  you  with  my  body 
and  endow  you  with  all  my  worldly  goods  with- 
out extorting  any  promise  of  obedience  from  you 
in  return,  via  chi'rc.  Come,  let  us  swear  to  be 
true  to  one  another.  You'll  not  be  the  first 
Englishwoman  who  has  done  it ;  par  example, 
George  Eliot  set  aside  all  ceremonies,  and  made  a 
true  love  match,  and  she  was  acknowledged  by  all 
the  world.  Can't  you  trust  me,  dearest  ?  Don't 
you  love  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  love  you  only  too  well  for  my  own  peace 
of  mind ;  you  have  my  heart  in  spite  of  myself ; 
but  I  cannot  trust  alone   either  to   my  love   or 


^^ 


KERCH lEl'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


221 


' 


yours.  I  can  consent  to  live  with  you,  monsieur, 
only  as  your  legal  wife.'' 

"  Mon  Dicu  !  I  do  not  believe  you  know  what 
love  is,  you  are  so  cold  and  calculating.  Jc  s/n's 
bite  sot  to  love  you  so  passionately  ;  you  are  like 
the  rest  of  your  compatriots — marriage  before  all, 
and  in  spite  of  all.  It  always  spoilt  '  Romeo  and 
Juliet  '  for  me — took  all  the  romance  out  of  it — 
when  they  ran  off  to  Friar  Laurence  and  got  mar- 
ried ;  they  were  so  selfish.  Now,  French  lovers, 
carried  away  by  their  feelings,  might  be  indiscreet 
and  bring  trouble  on  themselves,  end  probably  by 
dying  in  each  other's  arms,  but  they  would  respect 
the  wishes  of  their  parents  and  not  get  married." 

"  I  see  only  too  clearly,  monsieur,  that  our 
ideas  on  this  subject  are  widely  different  ;  fortu- 
nately 1  have  been  brought  up  to  consider  that 
marriage,  if  not  a  sacrament,  is  essential,  not  only 
to  individual  happiness,  but  to  that  of  society  at 
large.  By  the  way,  your  allusion  to  George  Eliot 
just  now,  mon  ami,  was  rather  unfortunate.  Far 
from  being  acknowledged  by  all  the  world,  she 
w^as  tabooed  by  '  respectable  society,'  and  felt  the 
slight  keenly  all  through  her  after  life.  Yes,  as 
you  say,  '  marriage  before  all ' ;  and  do  you  know, 
I  can  hardly  imagine  an  Englishman  talking  to 
me  as  you  are  now  doing,  Count  de  Gallerand." 

"  Vraintcnt  ?  Jiclas  !  It  is  all  a  matter  of  educa- 
tion that  makes  things  right  or  wrong  to  most  of 


M^^ 


m 


I  4 


aai 


KERCHIEFS  TO  J/CW'T  SOULS. 


US.  Wliat  is  vice  in  Europe  is  virtue  in  Asia,  and 
Tur  versa;  what  tlic  Roman  Cluirch  forbids  is 
often  permitted  in  the  Protestant,  and  made  com- 
pulsory in  the  Greek;  what  is  allowed  in  Scotland 
is  often  criminal  in  England.  Morality  chanj^jes 
with  the  country  and  climate  ;  your  compatriots, 
for  the  most  part,  are  different  beings  at  home 
from  what  they  are  in  Paris.  I  have  any  number 
of  Dr.  Jekyllsand  Mr.  Hydes  amonj;  my  acquaint- 
ances, both  men  and  women.  Nothin^j  is  fixed 
inmorals;  there  is  a  lot  of  cant,  which  one  is 
supposed  to  believe;  but  who  lives  up  to  it?  " 

"  Not  many,  I  am  afraid,"  Dorothy  sighed. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  discussion  she  had 
withdrawn  her  hand  from  the  count's  and  stood 
erect  and  still,  with  folded  arms,  her  back  against 
the  window-frame,  as  if  by  her  attitude  to  give 
force  to  her  words  ;  meanwhile  her  companion 
paced  up  and  down  the  balcony  in  intense  excite- 
ment. Suddenly  he  stopped,  horrified  at  the  sad, 
pale  face  that  confronted  him,  which  a  flash  of 
electric  light  made  almost  ghastly.  Coming  up 
to  her  in  his  impetuous  way, 

''  Mon  Dicii !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  once  more 
drew  her  to  him,  "  don't  look  like  that.  Psyche  ! 
It  is  just  that  expression  I  caught  and  fixed  in 
your  portrait.  I  can't  stand  it.  Do  smile  and 
laugh.  I'll  do  anything  you  want,  only  don't  fix  me 
with  those  great  eyes.     Jc  f  adore  ;  il  7iy  a  plus 


i 

■  -^ 

i    : 

w- 

^■'Oi 

l»t 

m-' 

hi 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


223 


pour  moi  (V autre  fcmtnc.  You  love  mc,  nest-ce 
pas  f     Tu  as  77/  comuic  jc  suis  fidelc." 

"  For  how  long,  pray  ?  Nothing  to  boast  of 
— a  week,  a  month  perhaps." 

"  Forever  and  forever.  Do  try  mc,  Psyche  ;  I 
swear  ril  be  faithful  and  true  to  you  all  my  life 
long  !  "  he  pleaded. 

"  It's  a  mystery  to  me  why  you  should  care  for 
me  at  all,  monsieur  ;  I  must  be  very  different  from 
your  ideal  wife.  What  was  there  about  me  that 
first  attracted  you  ?     Why  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

''  Jc  ne  sais  pas,  moi.  I  love  you  because  I  can't 
help  myself.  Love  reasons  without  reason,  you 
know.  Mais — voyons  !  "  He  mused,  looking  at  her 
critically.  "  What  first  attracted  me  were  vos beaux 
ycux — et  puis,  your  pretty  little  English  accent 
when  you  said,  '  Je  suis  Anglaisc ;  '  et  que de  chic, 
que  de  chic,  dans  /a  simplicity  de  vos  costumes.  The 
first  day  I  saw  you  I  said,  '  l^oilh  unc  qui  sait 
shabiller.'  ATais,  mon  amie,  what  made  yoa 
think  you  were  not  my  ideal  ?  You  are  pre- 
cisely my  ideal ;  oui,  exactement  mon  type.  II  niefaut 
unc  petite  fcmme  originate,  gaicjolie,  tres-jolie,  quon 
regarde  dans  la  rue,  et  quon  lorgne  au  spectacle^' 
he  explained,  lapsing  into  French,  as  was  his  wont 
when  excited.  "  Et  puis,  with  such  a  wife  one  can 
amuse  one's  self;  surtout  I  want  to  continue  as 
long  as  possible  ma  vie  de  garqon.  There  now,  I 
think  I  deserve  a  reward  for  that  long  dissertation 


i 


s<:' 


m 


224 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


l?-i 


upon  my  feelings  ;  it  is  not  often  I  analyze  them. 
I    did    it    to  please  you,  Psyche ;  won't    you  in 
return  do  something  for  me  ?  " 
**  If  I  can  ;  well,  what  is  it?" 
"  Only  to  swear  to  love  me  and  no  one  else,  as 
long  as  you  live." 

"  I  will  willingly  do  that,  for,  as  I  told  you 
before,  I  love  no  one  else  in  tlie  world  as  I  love 
you,  Count  de  Gallerand." 

'■'■Ah  del!  don't  call  me  Count  de  Gallerand." 
"  Well,  what  would  you  like  me  to  call  you  ?  " 
"  Why,  Gaston,  of  course  ;  that's  my  name." 
"  But  you  do  not  call  me  Dorothy." 
"  No,  for  the  simple  reason  that   I  cannot  pro- 
nounce it ;  that  th  is  trcs  difficile — too  much  for 
me,"  he    laughingly    admitted.     "  Then    Psyche 
suits  you  so  well  ;  you  remember,  I  told  you  that 
you   were  always  Psyche   for  me.     Call  me  Mer- 
cure,  as  you  sometimes  do,  or  any  other  name  you 
like,  only  not  Count  de  Gallerand,  I  beg  of  you  ; 
it    is   too   formal   for   ma  petite  fianede   to    use. 
Now,   for  the   oath  you   have  promised    to  give 
me,  put  your  hands  in  mine  thus  and  say,  '  I  will 
love  you,  and  you  only,  as  long  as  I  live." 

Dorothy  gave  the  desired  promise,  and  sealed 
it  with  a  kiss,  then  added  : 

"  You  must  know  once  and  for  all,  Gaston,  that 
though  I  love  you  dearly — well  enough  to  suffer 
and  die  for  you — I  cannot  live  with  you  except  as 


V 


ir-S 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


225 


your  legal  wife,  and  that  our  acquaintance  must 
end  here.  Let  me  vanish  quietly  ;  let  me  go,  my 
friend !  " 

'^  Jamais  !  jamais  !  If  that  is  your  final  de- 
cision I  must  lay  siege  to  la  contcssc  mere  again  ; 
if  she  only  saw  you  I  am  sure  she  would  consent, 
til  es  si  belle.  Voilii  man  programme  !  To-day  is 
Tuesday  ;  if  I  take  the  early  train  to-morrow  I 
can  be  back  in  Paris  by  Friday  night.  Mais,  if 
maman  will  not  consent,  what  do  you  say  to  our 
being  married  in  England,  Psyche?  I  could  go 
over  ostensibly  to  visit  an  old  friend,  an  artist 
living  in  St.  John's  Wood,  and  you  could  join  me 
there.  I  suppose  marriage  before  a  Justice  of 
the  Peace  would  satisfy  all  your  scruples,  men 
amte  ? 

*'  I  suppose  it  will  have  to  do,  if  you  object  to 
a  wedding  in  church." 

"  Tiens  !  You  see  how  it  is ;  I  detest  ceremony 
of  all  kind  ;  the  only  ritual  that  could  appeal  to 
me  is  the  Roman  Catholic  ;  I  have  been  taught 
to  look  upon  the  ofifice  in  your  Protestant 
churches  as  a  mere  farce — the  letter  without  the 
spirit." 

"  Well,  I'll  think  of  it,  Gaston,  while  you  arc 
at  the  chateau.  And  now  that  I  have  given  that 
promise,  you  won't  mind  going." 

**  Indeed  I  will   mind   going  very  much  ;  I've 
not  said  half  I  meant  to," 
15 


f' 


,1 


226 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


W 


"  But,  you  really  must  not,  dear ;  I  know  you 
love  me  too  well  to  get  me  into  trouble  with  the 
people  here." 

'"'-  N ayes  pas  pciir,  ma  mie ;  I'll  not  run  any 
risks  where  you  are  concerned.  The  concierge 
has  not  whistled  yet,  and  he  has  promised  to 
warn  me." 

"  Oh !  he  may  have  forgotten  to  do  so  ;  do  go 
now  ;  I  am  sure  I  heard  steps  and  voices  in  the 
hall,  and — there's  the  whistle  !  "  she  cried,  spring- 
ing up  and  pushing  him  from  her. 

Again  Count  de  Gallerand  clasped  her  in  his 
arms  and  passionately  kissed  her  forehead,  eyes, 
and  mouth,  as  he  whispered,  "  Enfin  te  voilh  h 
mot,  ma  bien-ainider 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  leave  me ! "  Dorothy 
pleaded,  as  she  struggled  to  free  herself. 

"  Out,  toiit  de  suite,  tout  de  suite.  Attendee  un 
moment ;  I  shall  be  on  this  balcony  Friday  even- 
ing as  the  clock  is  striking  eleven,  and  will  tell 
you  what  luck  I  have  with  maman ;  comprenez- 
vous  / 

"  No,  no,  not  here  ;  you  must  not  come  again  ; 
do  go  now,  please  ;  "  then,  losing  all  self-control, 
she  pushed  him  from  her  with  both  hands  so 
violently  that  she  tottered  and  almost  lost  her 
balance. 

A  moment  later  Count  de  Gallerand  was  sing- 
ing with  his  usual  airy  lightness  on  the  neighbor- 


lii 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS.  2  2  7 

ing  balcony,  and  Dorothy  v/as  standing  trembling 
^ylth  emotion  in  her  own  room,  his  words  -> 
taimcje  faime,je  /W^r.,"  ringing  in  her' ears, 
and  causing  her  heart  to  beat  and  her  cheeks  to 
flush.     -  Oh  !  I  can  love-but  can  I  trust  ?  " 


I  17' 


228 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


M  ;  '\ 


"And  there  are  hungry  hearts  that  break, 
Of  mothers  sick  in  sweater's  den, 
And  maidens  fair,  but  sometimes  weak, 
And  serpents  watching  ;  Soul,  what  then  ? 

"  Well,  let  them  perish  ;  it  is  Fate  ; 
For  each  the  future  has  in  store 
His  destiny  of  love  or  hate, 

Of  shame,  his  portion,  and  no  more." — D.  McCaig. 

As  might  be  expected,  Dorothy  passed  a  white 
night.  Fearing  that  her  erratic  and  audacious 
neighbor-lover  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  pay 
her  another  visit,  she  carefully  closed  and  fastened 
her  windows ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  precautions,  she 
was  constantly,  through  the  night,  starting  up  in 
fear  and  trembling  that  some  one  was  in  her  room. 
Fortunately  the  nights  are  short  in  summer,  and 
she  had  not  many  hours  to  wait  ere  the  sun 
peeped  in  at  her  window  ;  then  she  arose  and 
dressed,  with  joy  in  her  heart,  and  the  feeling  of 
love  and  charity  for  all  the  world  that  a  contented 
and  happy  mind  often  gives  the  pos.sessor.  She 
had  not  arrived  at  any  decision  during  the  night 
as   to   what   answer  she   would   give   Count   de 


y 


TTEtS^'i^.i^Pi^Ak^ajv 


^ 


KERCHIRFS  TO  nUKT  SOULS. 


229 


Gallcrand  ;  that  troubled  her  but  little ;  it  was 
enough  to  love  and  be  loved  as  she  had  so  longed 
to  be.  She  would  leave  the  decision  with  a  higher 
power.  Coming  up  from  breakfast,  a  housemaid 
met  her  on  the  stairs  with  a  request  from  Miss 
Starr,  bej^ging  her  to  step  into  the  office  for  a 
few  moments,  which  she  immediately  complied 
with. 

The  directress,  seated  in  her  usual  place  behind 
the  desk,  frigidly  returned  Dorothy's  salutation, 
and  said  : 

*'  I  sent  for  you,  Miss  Pembroke,  to  tell  you 
that  you  cannot  remain  in  the  Home  after  to- 
day." 

"  Not  remain  here?  I  do  not  understand.  Miss 
Starr.    What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Dorothy  stammered. 

"  Exactly  what  I  said  ;  I  can  hardly  make  my 
words  plainer.  It  is  my  painful  duty  to  inform 
you  that  we  cannot  keep  you  here  any  longer." 

"  Why  not,  may  I  inquire  ?  " 

"  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  enter  into  particu- 
lars. You  know  better  than  I  do  how  persistently 
ever  since  coming  here  you  have  set  at  defiance 
all  our  rules.  Your  shameless  flirtation  with  the 
artist  over  the  way  has  been  observed  and  noted. 
Not  wishing  to  do  anything  in  haste,  we  deferred 
speakmg  to  you  about  it  in  hopes  that  your  illness 
might  lead  you  to  see  the  evil  of  your  way ;  but 
alas  !  I  fear  you  are  an  old  and  hardened  offender. 


e,:v:i:te,l'i!.a!!La>.^.i;.Ji....:^LiH 


.X 


W' 


230 


KERCniKl'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Your  assignation  on  the  balcony  last  night  has 
capped  the  climax :  it  was  very  cleverly  planned, 
but  you  were  seen  and  watched." 

"  Pardon,  Miss  Starr,  but  indeed  it  was  not 
planned  at  all ;  I  am  awfully  sorry  it  happened. 
Count  de  Gallerand  quite  took  me  by  surprise.  I 
thought  him  out  of  town,  miles  away,  and  had 
not  the  faintest  idea  he  was  next  door." 

**  Your  excuses  are  excellent,  but  I  have  heard 
similar  ones  before.  I  am  not  disappointed  in 
you  ;  I  expected  just  such  a  finale,  knowing  you 
had  been  living  with  that  notorious  cocottc,  Princess 
Nesvitsky.  Some  of  the  inmates  have  complained 
of  your  being  in  the  Home,  but  I  explained  to 
them  that  I  had  taken  you  in  only  on  trial,  as 
you  told  me  you  wanted  to  lead  a  new  life  ;  but  I 
fear  you  have  been  in  bad  company  too  long." 

"  Excuse  me,  but  the  princess  is  not  a  bad 
woman,  and  I  did  not  come  here  to  lead  a  new 
life,  but  in  hopes  of  finding  protection  and  en- 
couragement to  lead  the  life  I  have  been  brought 
up  in.  I  was  very  happy  at  Hotel  Nesvitsky, 
only,  when  I  found  out  what  was  going  on  there, 
I  could  not  remain." 

"  Oh !  I  understand  perfe«.tly ;  spare  me  a 
repetition." 

"  Since  coming  here,  God  knows  I  have  done 
nothing  I  need  be  ashamed  of." 

"  Take  care.  Miss  Pembroke  ;  do  not  call  upon 


V 


K 


i 


--.;rr-v^-t.T':,.:3i!: 


»l 


KERCH IIU'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


231 


\ 


% 


God  as  a  witness  ;  remember  the  fate  of  Ananias 
and  Sapphira.  However,  it  is  useless  to  continue 
this  conversation  ;  decidedly,  you  cannot  remain 
here  after  to-day." 

"  But  where  shall  I  go  ?  "  Dorothy  asked,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh  !  there  are  plenty  of  places  ;  you  have 
been  in  pensions  before  coming  to  us  ;  why  not 
go  back  to  one  of  them  if  they  will  take  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  they  will  take  me  only  too  gladly ;  but 
it  is  incomprehensible  to  me  how  you  dare  turn 
me  out  into  the  street  as  you  are  doing.  How 
do  you  know  but  that  I  may  be  without  money 
enough  to  move  and  pay  a  week's  board  in  ad- 
vance ?  Anywhere  else,  in  such  a  case,  would  be 
to  go  to  the  bad  or  to  kill  myself.  I  was  under 
the  impression  that  these  self-styled  Homes  pro- 
fessed to  '  mother '  girls,  and  shelter  them  from 
the  evil  influences  of  great  cities." 

*'  So  we  do  ;  good  girls  will  always  find  a  home 
with  us,  but  not  such  as  you  ;  this  is  not  a  re- 
formatory." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  Miss  Starr, 
when  you  say  girls  such  as  I,  for  I'm  very  like 
other  girls,  I  fanc)%  neither  better  nor  worse,  but 
striving,  with  God's  help,  to  overcome  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil ;  only  I  am  weak  and 
sorely  need  temporal  help  just  now.  Will  you 
not  give  it  to  me  ?  I  have  no  one  I  can  go  to  !  " 


^1 


232 


Ki:h'Cin/:FS   TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Dorothy  entreated,  with  sobs,  as  the  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks. 

"  This  conversation,  Miss  Pembroke,  is  very 
painful  to  me ;  it  is  of  no  use  to  prolong  it.  I 
am  only  doing  my  duty;  you  cannot  deny  that 
you  received  a  visit  from  a  man  in  your  bedroom 
last  night ;  you  must  leave  here  for  the  sake  of 
the  others." 

"If  that  is  the  case,  I  can  only  say  that  this 
house  is  a  great  fraud  ;  why,  it  is  only  girls  who 
are  in  trouble  that  need  protection  ;  the  others 
can  take  care  of  themselves!"  Dorothy  exclaimed, 
with  flashing  eyes  and  flaming  cheeks,  as  she 
turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Stay  one  moment,"  Miss  Starr  called,  as  the 
former  was  opening  the  door;  "allow  me  to  pre- 
sent you  with  these  ;  they  may  prove  a  word  in 
season,"  handing  her  several  tracts  with  a  sweet, 
forgiving  smile. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Starr,  it  is  a  case  of  throw- 
ing pearls  before  swine  ;  keep  them  for  the  good 
gnis. 

vMniost  beside  herself  with  indignation,  Dorothy 
ran  upstairs  two  steps  at  a  time,  never  stopping, 
as  her  usual  custom  was,  to  take  breath  on  the 
landings,  but  making  straight  for  her  room,  where 
she  found  a  childish  relief  in  giving  vent  to  her 
anger  by  slamming  the  door  and  making  a  noise 
generally,  as  she  pulled  her  boxes  about.     Every 


if 


TV 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


233 


■i 


now  and  tlien  she  would  stand  and  stamp  her 
foot  in  impotent  rage  at  such  injustice,  liy  and 
by  she  became  absorbed  in  lier  packini,r;  licr  ex- 
citement subsided,  only  the  tears  still  kept  wellinj^ 
up  in  her  eyes  and  rolling  down  her  cheeks  as 
fast  as  she  wiped  them  away. 

In  this  subdued  mood  she  faced  her  situation. 
Some  women  in  like  circumstances  would  have 
become  bitter  and  cynical;  not  so  Dorothy.  In 
spite  of  all  she  was  not  really  unhappy ;  deep 
down  in  her  heart  something  kept  whispering  : 
"  The  end  of  all  will  be  that  I  shall  marry  Gaston  ; 
it  is  my  fate;  why  should  I  struggle  longer?  A 
mission  is  now  before  me;  evidently  God  means 
through  me  to  educate,  to  elevate,  to  ennoble 
him.  If  my  love  is  selfish  I  can  do  nothing  to 
develop  this  higher  life,  he  will  never  be  great. 
I  must  remember  this  and  use  my  beauty  that  he 
raves  over  only  as  an  instrument  to  inspire  him 
to  noble  exertion.  That  Gaston  could  be  a  great 
artist  if  he  would,  is  certain  ;  he  has  it  in  him  ;  it 
only  needs  to  be  drawn  out.  His  Psyche  clearly 
shows  that,  in  its  delicate  portrait  of  spiritual, 
through  material  beauty.  Oh  !  what  a  heavenly 
task  it  would  be  not  only  to  show  him  higher 
paths  in  life,  but  walk  therein  beside  him !  " 

As  the  clock  struck  twelve  Dorothy  and  her 
boxes  were,  like  poor  Joe,  "  on  the  move"  again. 


fc';^i  ' 


234 


KJiHCHIEFH  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


x\ 


i1 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  I  yield  to  Thee,  O  God  I  and  to  Thy  judgment.  Thine  am  I, 
heavenly  Father;  save  me!  save  me!  Ye  angels  and  ye  hosts 
of  saints,  surround,  protect  me." — Goethe. 

"  Nothing,  almost,  sees  miracles — but  misery." — Shakespeare. 

It  was  in  a  little  Jiotcl pension.  Avenue  Marceau, 
that  Dorothy  sought  an  asylum  when  turned  adrift 
from  the  Home.  After  unpacking  and  tidying 
up  her  room,  a  certain  restlessness  goaded  her  to 
seek  relief  in  the  open  air,  where  the  noise  and 
bustle  of  the  streets  diverted  her.  For  the  first 
time  since  coming  abroad  she  was  feeling  home- 
sick, and  her  thoughts  kept  constantly  reverting 
to  Harry  Alexander.  Why  had  he  never  an- 
swered her  letter?  What  could  his  silence  mean? 
Did  he  really  love  her  selfishly,  and  want  her  for 
himself?  and,  in  spite  of  all  his  protestations  that 
he  only  wished  her  to  consult  her  own  happiness, 
could  it  be  that  he  was  jealous  and  annoyed  that 
she  should  prefer  a  foreigner  to  him  ?  "  Oh  !  " 
she  thought,  "  the  best  of  men  are  inconsistent 
when  a  woman  is  in  the  case ;  they  never  know 
how  to  take  us.  Well,  I  gave  him  a  chance ;  he 
has  not  taken  it.     If  he  had  written  me  a  good, 


(M* 


*StfA 


(II 


KKRCIIIEIS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


235 


loving  letter,  no  knowing  what  might  have  hap- 
pened. I  suppose  it's  all  for  the  bei:t  ;  no  use 
crying  over  spilt  milk." 

Reason  as  she  would  she  was  no  nearer  her 
decision  as  to  what  answer  she  should  give  Count 
de  Gallerand.  Every  morning  she  rose  with  the 
hope  in  her  heart  and  the  wish  on  her  lips  that 
something  extraordinary  would  happen  to  decide 
her.  The  more  passionately  she  loved  him  and 
wanted  to  be  with  him,  the  more  religiously  she 
deemed  herself  bound  to  avoid  him  until  she  was 
sure  it  was  right.  Heretofore  she  had  visited 
most  of  the  churches  in  Paris  out  of  curiosity. 
Now,  restless  with  trouble,  she  made  a  second 
pilgrimage  to  them,  in  hope  of  consolation.  Un- 
like the  Protestant  places  of  worship  that  are 
closed  and  locked  except  upon  stated  occasions, 
the  Catholic  churches  are  always  open,  inviting 
the  passer-by  to  enter. 

At  this  time  nothing  harmonized  so  well  with  her 
mood  as  meditation  in  one  of  these  sacred  edifices. 
She  delighted  to  linger  in  the  little  side  chapel 
dedicated  to  the  Virgin,  not  to  pray  to  her — 
she  was  too  deeply  imbued  with  Protestant 
views  to  do  that — but  to  confide  in  her,  to 
open  her  heart  to  her,  as  she  imagined  she 
would  have  done  to  her  own  mother  had  she 
been  alive  and  near  her.  She  often  thought 
what    a    comfort    and    joy    it    would    be,    after 


m  ii 


]i  ' 


236 


KEKCIflEI'S  TO  IIVXT  SOULS. 


pouring  out  lur  trouble  and  being  consoled 
with  a  good  niotlierl)-  hug  and  kiss,  to  pray  her 
prayer  once  more  at  her  mother's  knee  as  she  had 
done  when  a  little  child — as  that  could  never 
again  be.  Was  not  the  dear  Saviour's  mother  at 
her  Son's  right  hand  to  sympathize  with  and 
intercede  for  her  and  all  the  motherless  children 
in  the  world  ?  The  thought  soothed  and  com- 
forted her.  Sometimes,  when  in  extreme  doubt 
or  mental  depression,  she  would  throw  herself  in 
prayer  at  the  very  foot  of  the  cross,  remaining 
there  until  her  Lord  seemed  to  descend,  come 
towards  her,  bend  over  her,  and  by  lightening  her 
burden,  draw  her  away  from  earth  nearer  Him  and 
heaven.  Thus  little  by  little  she  got  into  the 
habit  of  praying  to  this  visible  Christ.  Had  she 
been  a  Roman  Catholic  she  \vould,  in  like  circum- 
stances, have  gone  to  her  confessor  and  confided 
in  him. 

Such  was  her  mood  when,  walking  along  rue 
St.  Honor^,  she  strolled  into  St.  Roch,  passed 
through  the  church,  back  of  the  high  altar,  then 
on  and  on  until  she  came  to  the  little  chapel 
where  the  beautiful  and  touching  Calvary  is. 
The  last  time  Dorothy  had  visited  it  was  on  Good 
Friday,  when  the  rocks  had  blossomed  like  a 
garden  with  the  floral  gifts  of  the  faithful.  Now 
they  were  bare  and  chilling,  yet  Dorothy  never 
felt  her  Lord  nearer  to  her.     She  gazed  long  at 


« 


A'ENC/f/KFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


237 


the  sacred  image,  then  knelt  aiul  prayed,  not  to 
the  Christ  before  her  on  the  cross,  nor  even  to 
her  Saviour  in  heaven,  but  to  her  Friend  and 
Brother,  He  who  liad  lived  on  earth  and  had 
known  sorrow  and  suffering  like  herself,  who, 
being  acquainted  with  grief,  could  feel  for  her. 
Oh  that  He  would  show  her  some  spiritual  mani- 
festation, give  some  sign  that  He  heard  her! 
she  prayed.  Count  dc  Gallerand  would  return 
that  night;  what  answer  should  she  make?  "  I 
will  not  rise  from  my  knees  until  some  token  is 
vouchsafed  me,"  she  resolved.  Communing  thus, 
hours  passed  unheeded  by  the  suppliant,  when 
she  was  startled  by  a  voice  saying  to  her,  "  Tolle 
it  lege.''  Who  spoke?  what  could  it  mean? 
She  glanced  around;  there  were  only  three  others 
in  the  little  chapel  with  her,  and  neither  of  the 
three  had  spoken.  As  she  pondered  on  the  un- 
familiar words  she  timidly  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
Christ  above  her,  when  lo !  He  bent  towards 
her  a  face  of  more  than  mortal  tenderness,  and 
His  lips  surely  moved  as  a  second  time  the  words 
"  Toilc  et  lege''  sounded  in  her  ears.  Suddenly  it 
flashed  upon  her  that  they  were  the  very  same 
as  St.  Augustine  had  heard  years  and  years 
before.  "  Yes,  I  shall  find  my  answer  in  the  Holy 
Scripture,  as  he  did." 

Trembling  with  strange  joy  she  rose  from  her 
knees,  quickly  left  thq  church  by  a  side  door,  an^ 


.fl  *» 


{ 


238 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


directed  her  steps  to  a  Bible  depository  not  far 
off.  En  route  she  recalled  the  legend.  "  It  was  in 
the  epistles  cf  St.  Paul  he  found  his  answer;  I'll 
look  for  mine  there  also.  What  I  want  to  be 
sure  about  is,  if  it  would  be  right  for  me  to  marry 
Count  de  Gallerand  in  opposition  to  his  mother, 
and  if  I  do,  will  God  be  with  us  and  give  us 
His  blessing.  Whatever  the  answer  may  be  I 
shall  unhesitatingly  abide  by  it.  I  have  no  pa- 
tience with  anyone  who  is  always  shilly-shallying, 
who  says  he  will  do  a  thing,  then  is  scared  to  carry 
it  out. 

On  entering  the  shop  Dorothy  asked  permission 
to  consult  a  pa'^sage  in  the  New  Testament.  The 
Bible  being  handed  to  her  she  opened  it  (with  a 
prayer  on  her  lips  for  guidance),  as  nearly  as  she 
could  judge,  at  St.  Paul's  Epistles,  then,  placing 
her  hand  upon  the  page,  read  where  her  finger 
pointed  :  '*  For  this  cause  shall  a  man  leave  his 
father  and  his  mother,  and  shall  be  joined  unto 
his  wife,  and  they  two  shall  be  one  flesh."  Ephe- 
sians  v.  31.  Reverently  closing  the  Sacred  Book 
she  left  the  shop  with  a  feeling  of  awe,  as  if  she 
had  seen  a  vision.  "  My  way  is  clear  now  ;  noth- 
ing could  be  simpler.  God  has  heard  my  petition 
and  answered  it  in  a  wonderful  and  miraculous 
manner." 

On  reaching  home  she  found  the  expected 
letter  from  Count  de  Gallerand  awaiting  her.     It 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


239 


was  merely  a  note  asking  for  a  rendezvous,  hav- 
ing much  to  say  that  he  could  not  write.  In 
spite  of  all  his  persuasions,  his  mother  was  still 
obdurate,  but  he  was  fully  determined  upon  tak- 
ing the  trip  to  England  if  Psyche  would  agree. 
This  letter  she  immediately  answered,  giving  her 
new  address  and  permission  to  call  upon  her  when 
he  would. 

That  evening  Count  de  Gallerand  presented 
himself,  and  was  made  very  happy,  not  only  by 
one  of  the  most  cordial  and  gracious  welcomes 
imaginable,  but  by  Dorothy's  consent  to  join  him 
in  London. 

A  fortnight  from  that  day  Dorothy  Pembroke 
left  Paris  never  to  return. 

It  was  the  Comtesse  de  Gallerand  who  came 
back. 


i   j 


END    OF   BOOK    I. 


BOOK  11. 


"  All  things  transitory 

But  as  symbols  are  sent; 
Earth's  insufficiency 

Here  grows  to  event; 
The  Indescribable 

Here  it  is  done  ; 
The  Woman-Soul  leadeth  us 

Upward  and  on  1 " — Goethe. 


:1 


, 


**to 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


243 


CHAPTER    I. 

"  Friendship  hath  passed  me  like  a  ship  at  sea, 
And  I  have  seen  no  more  of  it." 

"  What  pleasure  hast  thou  of  thy  changeless  bliss  ? 
Nay,  if  love  lasted,  there  were  joy  in  this  ; 
But  life's  way  is  the  wind's  way  ;  all  thtjse  things 
Are  but  brief  voices,  breathed  on  shiftinj  strings." 

— Edwin  Arnold. 

It  is  the  month  of  June  in  Switzerland.  Al- 
most two  years  have  passed  since  Dorothy  Pem- 
broke and  Gaston  de  Gallerand  were  joined  to- 
gether in  holy  matrimony  in  the  little  parlor  of  a 
Presbyterian  manse  in  St.  John's  Wood,  London. 
Married  life  bad  not  proved  to  be  exactly  what 
Dorothy  had  pictured  it.  Count  de  Gallerand 
was  always  the  same  fils  dc  Gaulois,  vain,  frivo- 
lous, fickle,  fascinating,  spiritucl,  and  what  the 
French  call  ''  curicux ;''  and,  unfortunately, 
Dorothy's  influence  over  him  had  not  been  as 
powerful  as  she  had  hoped  for. 

They  returned  to  Paris  shortly  after  their  mar- 


wm 


r 


244 


KERCH lEIS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


riage,  taking  a  cottage  at  Asnieres,  where  Dorothy 
might  have  been  very  happy  had  she  not  felt  her- 
self in  a  false  position,  which  her  inexperience 
of  the  world  had  prevented  her  anticipating. 
Though  not  expecting  recognition  from  Count  de 
Gallerand's  mother  and  family,  she  supposed  her 
marriage  would  be  acknowledged  by  the  world 
generally,  and  was  astonished  to  find,  from  words 
dropped  here  and  there,  that  she  was  thought  no 
better  than  her  neighbors — women  living  openly 
with  fast  men,  as  their  mistresses.  When  she 
found  that  Asni6res  was  for  the  most  part  a 
colony  of  such  irregular  households,  she  deter- 
mined to  keep  aloof  from  them  as  far  as  possible, 
and  at  the  same  time  make  herself  indispensable 
to  her  husband.  As  a  means  to  this  end,  she 
took  lessons  from  him  in  painting,  and  soon 
evinced  a  decided  talent  for  landscape,  which,  to 
her  delight,  enabled  her  to  aid  him  by  painting  in 
his  backgrounds,  a  detail  that  he  detested.  Then, 
becoming  the  most  docile  of  models,  she  posed 
in  any  character  he  wished  without  a  murmur, 
though  it  was  something  she  detested.  Also, 
remembering  what  Count  de  Gallerand  had  said 
about  his  ideal  wife  being  one  who  knew  how  to 
dress,  one  that  they  stared  at  in  the  streets  and 
ogled  at  the  play — in  a  word,  the  observed  of  all 
observers — she  dressed  picturesquely  to  please 
him,  often  copying  some  old  picture.     Sometimes 


r 


lur, 
Iso, 
laid 

to 
ind 

all 
[ase 

les 


KERCIIIRFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


245 


it  was  Madame  R^camicr,  sometimes  Madame  le 
Brun,  again  a  Greel<  girl  or  Roman  matron,  or 
even  a  Japanese  lady,  that  Count  de  Gallerand 
found  awaiting  him  on  his  return  from  the  city. 
One  thing,  however,  delighted  him  more  than  all 
else — it  was  the  admiration  her  skating  attracted. 
The  winter  was  an  unusually  cold  one,  and  the 
ponds  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  were  frozen  over 
for  several  weeks.  Dorothy  immediately  became 
a  marked  woman,  distinguished  among  all  the 
other  foreigners  for  her  graceful  figure-skating, 
which  she  had  learned  when  a  child  in  Canada. 
But,  alas  !  in  spite  of  this  posing,  and  dressing, 
and  smoking,  and  skating,  to  please  her  husband, 
Dorothy  felt  that  she  was  not  quite  the  comrade 
he  had  expected  ;  she  was  too  serious. 

In  the  spring,  after  the  closing  of  the  salon 
where  Count  de  Gallerand  had  exhibited  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc  he  had  dreamed  of  for  so  long 
and  worked  at  so  diligently  under  the  influence 
of  Psyche,  they  turned  their  backs  upon  Asni^res 
for  a  holiday  among  the  Alps.  The  six  months 
spent  there  were  the  happiest  in  Dorothy's  life. 
They  were  a  dream  of  delight.  Unhappily,  like 
all  dreams,  there  was  an  awakening.  While  in 
Switzerland,  Dorothy  adopted  the  costume  of  the 
Canton  de  Vaud,  as  being  both  convenient  and 
becoming,  with  its  white  blouse,  black  bodice, 
bright  red  skirt,  white  apron  trimmed  with  lace, 


246 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


and  black  mitts  to  elbow,  the  whole  crowned  by  a 
dainty  straw  hat  with  a  funny  little  knob  at  the 
top,  around  which  was  twisted  a  red  cord  and 
tassel.  Count  de  Gallerand  likewise  dressed  h  la 
paysan  Suissi\  and  a  pretty  and  jolly  pair  they 
were  as  they  danced  rather  than  walked  over  the 
mountains  with  knapsacks  on  their  backs  and 
alpenstocks  in  their  hands.  All  extra  luggage 
was  sent  on  ahead  by  post. 

During  these  happy  months — too  happy  to 
last ! — Gaston  de  Gallerand  showed  himself  to  be 
"  the  imperishable  child,"  with  never  a  thought 
of  the  morrow.  The  influence  of  his  animal 
spirits  and  elastic  temperament  was  contagious. 
Dorothy  and  he  ran  races  up  and  down  the  moun- 
tain paths,  gathered  huge  nosegays  of  wild 
flowers  only  to  throw  away ;  sometimes  they 
would  decorate  each  other  with  garlands,  their 
uncovered  heads  crowned  with  flowers,  reminding 
one  of  the  fauns  and  nymphs  of  other  days  when 
the  world  was  young. 

*'  The  man  who  wrote  *  Cc  qiiil y  a  de  mieitx 
dans  rhovnne  ccst  le  cJiicn '  must  have  known  you, 
mon  aini^'  Dorothy  remarked  one  day  to  her 
husband,  as  she  joined  him  at  the  foot  of  a  steep 
declivity,  where  he  lay  stretched  on  the  grass 
awaiting  her ;  he  had  been  amusing  himself  all 
the  afternoon  by  running  in  advance,  reminding 
one  of  a  dog  gambolling  with  its  mistress. 


^pp 


KENCHrEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


247 


:ep 

rass 

all 

ing 


"  Very  likely;  I  often  fancy  I  must  have  been 
a  dog  or  a  goat  in  the  transmigration  state." 

"  How  long,  think  you,  will  this  careless  happi- 
ness last  for  us,  Gaston  ?  " 

**  TouJourSy  toujours  ;  why  should  it  not  ?  " 

"  But  winter  comes  even  here,  Mercure" 

^^Ticns!  Don't  lecture,  Psyche;  that  is  always 
a  chilling  blast !  "  he  cried,  with  a  shrug. 

November  found  them  at  the  Glacier  du 
Rhone  ;  a  few  days  later  they  crossed  the  Sim- 
plon  into  Italy,  where  they  spent  the  winter 
studying  art. 

This  life  suited  Dorothy  perfectly,  but  Count  de 
Gallerand  suffered  most  terribly  from  nostalgia  ; 
like  most  of  his  compatriots,  he  could  live 
nowhere  for  any  length  of  time  out  of  Paris;  the 
boulevards,  the  theatres,  the  cafes,  the  clubs,  were 
an  integral  part  of  his  being. 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  take  a  trip  somewhere  in 
summer,"  he  said  ;  "  it  makes  you  appreciate  the 
beauties  and  attractions  r  >"  Paris  all  the  more 
when  you  return.  But  ive  are  not  tourists,  we 
are  exiles." 

Thoroughly  did  he  echo  Madame  de  Stael's 
sentiment  that  she  '  would  willingly  give  Mont 
Blanc  and  Lake  Leman — in  a  word,  all  the  beau- 
ties of  Switzerland — for  the  little  stream  of  rue 
du  Bac." 

So  when  his  picture  (a  group  of  three  martyrs 


? 


248 


KKKCIIIF.FS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


in  tlic  Coliseum,  conspicuously  a  ^n'rl  with  the 
face  of  his  wife,  that  he  so  delighted  to  paint  in 
every  mood,  now  rapt  and  glorified  by  a  beatific 
vision  of  the  world  to  come)  was  finished,  Dorothy 
insisted  upon  his  leaving  her,  and  going  alone  to 
Paris.  She  was  afraid  that,  should  she  accompany 
him,  she  might  have  to  remain  in  France,  as  their 
funds  were  very  low  just  then  ;  and  she  instinc- 
tively shrank  from  another  experience  such  as  she 
had  gone  through  at  Asni^res,  for  a  new  interest  in 
the  near  future,  with  its  increase  of  responsibility, 
was  hers  now,  and  believing  as  she  did  in  heredity, 
prenatal  influences,  and  environment,  she  was 
determined  that  her  child  should  have  every  ad 
vantage  of  that  kind  that  she  could  give  it. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  love  she  bore 
her  husband.  His  highest  whim  was  respected 
and  obeyed  as  law,  though  he  frequently  laughed 
at  and  chaffed  her  for  her  old-fashioned  Bible 
notions  of  woman's  duty.  With  him  there  was  no 
question  of  who  was  master  ;  they  were  partners 
and  equals,  quite  at  liberty  each  to  go  his  or 
her  own  way.  Dorothy  was  spoiling  him  ;  she 
never  obtruded  an  opinion  nor  showed  any  of 
that  independence  which  had  attracted  him  before 
her  marriage.  Once  and  once  only  she  took  him 
to  task  for  trifling  away  his  time — he  had  not 
touched  a  brush  during  their  six  months  in  Switz- 
erland— but  she  regretted  that  she  had  done  so, 


\ 


KEKCJIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


249 


when  he  replied  with  one  of  liis  j^ayest  laughs: 
"  Don't  scold  me,  man  aniii  ;  it's  no  use ;  you 
have  taken  me  as  I  am,  and  you  must  make  the 
best  of  your  bargain  ;  you  cannot  make  me  over. 
Why  do  you  want  to  do  it?  I'm  always  good- 
natured,  ready  to  amuse  everybody  as  well  as 
myself ;  don't,  I  pray,  make  me  feel  that  I  must 
always  be  on  my  good  behavior  with  you, 
Psyche." 

The  last  of  April,  after  seeing  Dorothy  installed 
in  the  suburbs  of  Geneva  in  a  little  villa  overlook- 
ing the  lake.  Count  de  Gallerand  turned  his  back 
on  Switzerland.  Once  again  in  France,  his  old 
habits  and  friends,  particularly  his  mother,  soon 
regained  their  former  hold  upon  him.  His  brief 
letters  to  his  wife  showed  this  only  too  clearly. 
Day  by  day  Dorothy  felt  him  slipping  further 
and  further  away  from  her,  and  the  countess's 
grasp  growing  stronger  and  stronger  upon  him. 
What  should  she  do  ?  Should  she  accept  her 
husband's  easy-going  philosophy  of  life  and  con- 
duct, and  not  mind  what  happened,  only  be 
happy,  give  up  everything  for  peace  ?  she  asked 
herself.  Money  was  a  necessity  with  Gaston  de 
Gallerand  ;  he  was  generous  to  a  fault,  and  could 
not  economize  if  he  would.  He  also  resented 
economy  in  his  wife  ;  nothing  annoyed  him  more 
than  to  see  her  badly  dressed.  One  chief  source 
of  discomfort  during  their  winter  in   Rome  was 


2SO 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


want  of  fiiiuls.  Dorothy  had  been  unusually 
successful  in  getting  purchasers  for  her  sketches, 
but  her  husband  so  disliked  her  selling  them 
that  she  never  alluded  to  the  subject  before  him. 
However,  since  his  departure  she  had  negotiated 
with  a  picture-dealer  in  Paris,  and  had  been  ever 
since  steadily  adding  to  her  little  bark  account 
at  Geneva.  She  would  say  to  herself  with  a 
smile,  as  she  made  a  deposit,  **  For  my  baby." 

Though  Dorothy  really  loved  her  husband 
more  intensely  even  than  when  she  married  him, 
she  thought  it  wiser,  taking  all  into  consideration, 
to  have  him  out  of  the  way  just  at  that  time,  for 
he  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  ridiculously  jealous 
of  the  "  little  interloper,"  as  he  called  it,  and 
talked  incessantly  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 
having  sent  all  his  children  to  foundling  hospitals, 
declaring  that  the  state,  Sparta-like,  should  take 
care  of  the  children,  and  that  a  woman  had 
enough  to  do  to  look  after  and  amuse  he/  hus- 
band. Can  we  wonder  that  Dorothy  urged  a 
change  of  scene,  in  hopes  of  a  change  of  senti- 
ment ? 

The  latter  came,  but  not  exactly  such  a  one 
as  she  had  hoped.  For  some  time  past  he  had 
more  than  hinted  at  schemes  of  his  mother's 
to  marry  him  to  the  daughter  of  a  rich  merchant. 
Dorothy  paid  as  little  attention  to  this  as  she 
had  to  his  jealousy,  thinking  the  idea  preposter- 


"TiPTl? 


KERCH  I  lis  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


aS« 


ous,  as  they  had  been  Ic^'ally  married  in  England, 
only  regretting  she  could  not  be  with  him,  and 
bitterly  repenting  that  she  had  allowed  him  to 
leave  her  side.  She  would  have  joined  him  now, 
but  he  was  staying  with  his  mother  at  the  cha- 
teau. She  made  up  her  mind,  however,  that, 
come  what  would,  she  would  go  to  Paris  in  the 
autumn,  as  soon  as  the  little  stranger  was  old 
enough  to  be  taken.  "  Daddy  doesn't  want  you, 
poor  little  thing,  but  mammy  will  make  a  nice 
warm  nest  for  you  ;  and  when  he  sees  what  a 
dear  little  birdie  she's  captured,  he'll  want  to  steal 
it ;  but  she  won't  let  little  birdie  go  then — no, 
not  she." 

Though  Count  de  Gallerand  wrote  almost  every 
day,  his  letters  brought  nothing  but  anguish  to 
Dorothy.  They  were  all  in  the  following  strain  : 
"  You  know,  Psyche,  you  will  always  be  my  one 
love  ;  you  are  all  right,  you  are  married  after  the 
English  law.  Unfortunately,  that  law  does  not 
hold  good  in  France ;  et  puis,  mavian  will  not 
admit  that  we  are  seriously  married  ;  she  is  con- 
stantly urging  me  to  have  '  un  intcricur'  {cest  son 
mot)  '  of  my  own.'  She  has  gone  so  far  that  she 
has  chosen  a  partic  for  me.  You  need  not  be 
jealous,  Dion  amie  ;  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  Mouton 
is  a  fright  of  the  peg-top  kind — little  waist,  bulging 
shoulders  and  hips.  Eh  Men  !  via  femvie  ador^e, 
won't   you    consent   to    my   going   through    the 


■•■^ ii-_i. .-;  I,-. 


252 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


\ 


ceremony?  It  will  not  make  her  one  bit  more 
my  wife,  for  you  are  that,  and  a  man  cannot  have 
two  in  this  country,  though,  by  the  way,  I  can't 
see  why  you  so  object,  for  morganatic  marriages 
are  quite  the  thing  in  Protestant  countries.  I 
believe  they  were  instituted  by  Luther  and  Me- 
lancthon.  If  there  is  any  wrong  it  is  I  who  am 
culpable,  not  you.  Oh,  Psyche  !  why  is  it  we  are 
poor  and  have  to  resort  to  such  repulsive  means 
to  get  money  ?  I  told  madame,  the  mother  of 
mademoiselle,  that  I  could  not  love  her  daughter  ; 
she  replied,  h  la  Mademoiselle  de  Blois,  that  her 
daughter  did  not  want  me  to  love  her,  but  to 
marry  her.  Won't  you  consent  to  that,  Psyche? 
If  you  will  not,  I'll  give  it  up  ;  but  if  you  really 
love  me,  I  think  you  will  not  sacrifice  me  to  an 
idea;  I'll  be  just  as  loyal  to  you,  my  wife,  after 
this  fiasco  as  before  ;  and  I  shall  content  every- 
body, and  they  will  leave  us  in  peace.  Then  I 
shall  be  rich,  and  when  the  scarecrow  is  installed 
in  the  little  '  intcriciir  '  we  will  have  a  charming 
little  extericur,  and  be  as  happy  as  we  were 
those  six  months  in  Switzerland." 

Such  for  weeks  past  had  been  the  burden  of 
his  letters,  and  Dorothy  had  wasted  paper,  time, 
words,  in  trying  to  convince  him  that  it  did  not 
rest  with  her  to  give  him  his  liberty.  "  God 
knows,  my  dear  husband,  I  love  you  well  enough 
to  prefer  your  happiness  to    mine — to    sacrifice 


1^  ' 


11  • 

(If: 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


2s: 


myself,  but  not  my  child  ;  I  cannot  commit  that 
crime,"  she  wrote.  Dorothy  had  many  a  strug- 
gle with  herself  before  she  could  accept  the  exist- 
ing state  of  affairs.  Count  de  Gallerand's  heart- 
less project  to  marry  again  was  at  first  inexplica- 
ble to  her,  but  after  a  careful  analysis  of  his  char- 
acter her  wonder  was  that  he  had  been  faithful  to 
her  as  long  as  he  had.  She  loved  him  to  distrac- 
tion and  could  not  bear  to  give  him  up  ;  she  was  so 
proud  of  his  personal  beauty  and  of  his  talents  that 
she  hated  to  admit  for  a  moment  that  she  had 
no  moral  hold  upon  him,  that  the  communion 
of  soul  she  had  longed  for  was  impossible  with 
one  lacking  that  godlike  attribute.  It  was  with 
shame  she  acknowledged  that  she  could  only  ap- 
peal to  and  touch  him  through  the  senses  ;  that  all 
his  fascination  and  attraction  was  superficial  ;  that 
he  had  no  depth,  no  conscience,  no  infinite  with- 
in him,  no  moral  sense  of  right  or  wrong.  Never- 
theless he  was  courageous  and  daring — knew  no 
fear;  death,  even,  had  no  terror  for  him;  he 
could  neither  grasp  nor  realize  it.  The  fell  de- 
stroyer pictured  as  a  grinning  skeleton  dragging 
off  some  unwilling  victim  he  would  declare  was 
only  a  phantom  that  churchmen  of  the  Middle 
Ages  had  conjured  up  to  frighten  the  silly  and 
superstitious  with  C'est  fini.  It  has  had  its  day. 
"  The  Angel  of  Death,  did  we  but  know  it,  is  our 
best  friend ;  he  ends  all  troubles,  decides  many  a 


"Ml 


254 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


\  II 


dilemma.  To-day  it  is  happiness  for  us  to  live; 
to-morrow  it  may  be  happiness  for  us  to  die." 
Enfant  gdtS  that  he  was,  when  he  could  not  have 
what  he  wanted,  his  favorite  threat  was  to  kill 
himself.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Dorothy  had 
often  heard  him  declare  Ihis  before  their  marriage 
without  even  a  shudder,  much  less  horror.  In 
fact,  was  it  not  the  correct  thing  for  lovers  to  de- 
clare they  would  rather  die  than  be  separated  ? 
Was  that  not  the  sequel  to  all  the  great  historic 
love  dramas? 


ii: 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


255 


CHAPTER  II. 


"  Love  was  to  her  impassioned  soul, 
Not,  as  with  others,  a  mere  part 
Of  its  existence,  but  the  whole. 
The  very  life-breath  of  her  heart.  " 

When  Dorothy  was  not  at  her  easel  she  would 
sit  for  hours  on  the  veranda  of  her  cottage,  watch- 
ing the  wondrously  blue  waters  of  Lake  Leman, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  little  boats  rigged 
with  the  picturesque  lateen  sail.  But  far  more 
beautiful  even  than  the  water  were  the  snow- 
capped mountains,  their  tops  reaching  unto  the 
clouds,  yea  beyond  the  clouds  to  the  very  heaven 
of  heavens.  There  she  would  sit  and  think  and 
dream  for  hours,  all  the  while  sewing  on  some  tiny 
frock  or  slip,  trying  to  bury  her  present  troubles 
in  recalling  the  marvelous  works  of  art  she  had 
seen  in  Rome,  or  flooding  her  soul  with  the 
beautiful  panorama  that  a  greater  than  Michael 
Angelo  or  Raphael  was  now  unfolding  before  her 
eyes.  From  nature  she  turned  to  nature's  God. 
Meditating  on  the  great  mystery  of  life  about  to 
be  revealed  to  her,  Dorothy  forgot  herself  in  the 
future  of  her  child.     Thus  she   strove   to   meet 


256 


KERCHIEFS  TO  IWNT  SOULS. 


with  resignation  whatever  was  in  store  for  her, 
but  when  at  last  the  blow  came,  it  fell  like  a 
thunderbolt,  almost  depriving  her  of  reason  and 
life.  Dorothy  was  so  well-balanced,  with  such 
depths  of  tenderness  and  unselfishness,  such  hu- 
mility and  heroism,  and  such  trust  in  God,  that 
it  would  have  been  almost  impossible  for  her  to 
become  the  victim  of  any  one  passion,  least  of  all  of 
that  sensual  passion  miscalled  love.  "  Why,"  she 
would  query,  "  this  rending  asunder  of  soul  and 
body  ?  My  heart  is  large  enough  to  take  in  both 
my  husband  and  my  child  ;  each  has  its  place ; 
both  are  dear,  and  which  the  dearer  I  cannot 
tell.  One  thing  I  am  determined  upon,  neither 
shall  be  sacrificed  for  the  other." 

But  this  waiting-time  had  for  Dorothy,  as  for 
every  other  woman,  days  of  physical  and  moral 
depression,  hours  of  grave  anxiety  and  dread  of 
the  unknown,  when  it  took  all  the  faith,  hope,  and 
love  she  possessed  to  sustain  her. 

In  Paris  when  in  trouble  Dorothy  had,  as  we 
have  seen,  sought  God  in  the  beautiful  Catholic 
churches;  in  Switzerland  she  looked  for  Him  up- 
on the  mountain-tops,  pictured  Him  enthroned 
upon  Mont  Blanc;  there  she  turned  her  eyes  in 
prayer. 

It  was  on  a  beautiful  June  day  that  the  fatal 
blow  v/as  dealt.  The  blue  waters  of  Lake  Gene- 
va  sparkled  and  danced  like  countless  jewels   in 


il 


KERCHIEFS  TO  I/UJVT  SOULS. 


257 


the  morning  sun  ;  the  cloud  palaces  and  cathe- 
drals were  lovelier  and  more  real  than  ever  before, 
Dorothy  thought,  as  she  threw  open  the  window 
and  welcomed  her  mountain  with  the  words  of 
the  Psalmist,  "  I  will  lift  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills, 
from  whence  cometh  my  help,  O  Lord."  She 
was  still  musing  when  she  caught  sight  of  the 
postman.  Hastening  to  meet  him  he  handed 
her  a  letter,  the  address  of  which  was  in  her  hus- 
band's characteristic  scrawl.  Hurriedly  tearing 
it  open  she  cast  her  eyes  over  the  first  page, 
quickly  turned  the  leaf,  and  seeing  at  a  glance  the 
spirit  in  which  the  letter  had  been  written,  she 
crushed  it  in  her  hand  as  she  exclaimed  with  an 
hysteric  laugh  :  "  Going  to  be  married  !  It's  a  lie  ! 
Never — never  without  my  consent  !  I'm  his  wife 
— he's  mine — he  does  not  love  this  woman  ;  he  is 
selling  himself  for  money,  but  he'll  have  to 
choose  between  us,  money  or  Psyche.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
ha!  which  shall  it  be?  He  loves  only  me  ;  that 
woman  shall  not  have  him  ;  I'll  go  to  Paris — to 
the  church,  if  need  be — and  stop  it." 

This  miserable,  hysterical  state  did  not  last 
long.  "With  a  supreme  effort  she  calmed  her- 
self, feeling  instinctively  that  it  would  require 
a  steady  brain  to  battle  for  name  and  fame  and 
honor.  Dorothy  was  no  weak  woman  to  give 
way  to  crying,  and  sighing,  and  wringing  of  the 
hands  at  such  a  crisis ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  in 
17 


258 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


action  she  sought  rehef,  so  she  immediately  set 
to  work  packing,  preparatory  to  taking  the  train 
that  evening  for  Paris.  Besides  calling  at  her 
banker's,  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  done. 
Many  things  which  she  did  not  need  immediately 
had  to  be  boxed  ready  for  transportation  when 
sent  for. 

But  she  was  in  that  intense  state  that  is  above 
and  beyond  fatigue  ;  in  fact,  she  felt  exhilaration 
in  drawing  upon  and  testing  her  bodily  strength, 
hoping  she  might  become  so  tired  that  she  would 
find  relief  in  sleep,  and  escape  in  that  way  from 
her  thoughts.  But,  alas  !  she  was  never  more 
awake  in  her  life  than  she  was  that  night  in  the 
train.  As  hour  after  hour  dragged  its  weary 
length,  she  debated  with  herself,  arraigning  her 
past  life,  turn  upon  turn  condemning,  condoning, 
blaming,  excusing.  From  time  to  time  she 
furtively  took  something  from  her  pocket,  pre- 
sumably her  purse  or  ticket ;  but  no,  it  was  only 
a  little  dagger  with  a  jewelled  hilt  that  she  drew 
from  its  sheath,  looked  at,  and  caressed  so  stealth- 
ily. It  was  a  gift  from  her  husband  the  past  win- 
ter while  in  Rome,  and  she  had  used  it  constant- 
ly since  as  a  paper  cutter.  In  emptying  the  con- 
tents of  her  writing-table  that  morning  she  had 
slipped  the  dagger  into  her  pocket  almost  uncon- 
sciously. And  all  night  long  the  same  refrain, 
"  Going  to  be  married  on  Thursday,"   kept  ring- 


iirnm  irrTMiranBiiiniiiiiiiiiiniii  .ir.  •iiirti»iWifilt;TTl'rt8B 


i  .'i-Myi" 


immmfm'mK  'v  ' 


'.""W^t 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


259 


^ 


ing  in  her  ears.  **  He  wanted  me  to  pose  for 
Charlotte  Corday,"  she  laughed  scornfully. 

On  arriving  at  Paris  Dorothy  drove  directly  to 
her  old  quarters,  Avenue  Marceau.  She  moved 
as  if  in  a  dream  ;  she  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing 
but  the  same  old  words,  "  Going  to  be  married  on 
Thursday,"  repeating  themselves  over  and  over 
again.  "  Yes,  I'm  going  to  Paris  to  be  Charlotte 
Corday,"  she  would  laugh,  as  she  fondled  the  little 
jewelled  dirk. 

After  bathing  and  drinking  a  cup  of  strong  cof- 
fee (she  was  much  too  excited  to  eat)  she  ordered 
a  cab  and  drove  to  Madame  Vidal's  on  rue  de  la 
Paix,  as  she  wished  to  make  a  few  additions  to 
her  toilette  before  calling  upon  Madame  Mouton, 
as  she  intended  doing  that  afternoon.  After  com- 
pleting her  purchases — a  dainty  capote  and  black- 
lace  cape  then  in  fashion — while  crossing  the  pave- 
ment to  her  carriage,  she  paused  a  moment,  wait- 
ing for  a  break  in  the  stream  of  foot-passengers. 
Just  then  two  shop-girls  (their  black  dresses  and 
uncovered  heads  proclaimed  them  such)  were 
passing.  The  nearer  of  them  looked  up,  and 
Dorothy,  instantly  recognizing  Alice  Jeffreys, 
instinctively  kid  her  hand  on  her  arm  to  detain 
her,  exclaiming  :  "  Alice,  is  it  you  ?  I  did  not  ex- 
pect to  see  you  here.  How  does  it  happen  you 
are  in  a  shop  ?  " 

"  For  the  same  reason  you're  in  a  carriage,  from 


ii  \ 


I      ! 


9.     ' 


I 


260 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


all  I've  heard,  Miss  Pembroke,"  she  retorted,  with 
a  toss  of  her  head. 

Dorothy,  deeply  wounded  by  the  coarse 
answer,  flushed,  let  her  hand  drop,  and  was 
turning  away,  when  she  remembered  sadly  that 
Alice  had  cause  to  think  lightly  of  her,  and 
that  the  present  was  >  time  to  stand  upon  her 
dignity,  so  she  replie  .  *vith  an  appealing  glance 
in  her  lovely  eyes,  now  filled  with  unshed 
tears  : 

"Come  and  lunch  with  me  to-morrow;  I'm 
at  the  hotel  pension.  Avenue  Marceau,  where  I 
boarded  two  years  ago." 

Late  that  same  day  she  slowly  and  carefully 
dressed  herself  with  all  the  fastidious  elegance  of 
a  Parisienne,  that  her  husband  liked,  but  feeling 
all  the  time  numb  and  lifeless,  as  if  she  were  some 
one  else  and  not  herself.  Again  taking  a  cab  she 
directed  the  man  to  drive  to  Madame  Mouton's, 
rue  Chauss^  d'Antin.  During  the  drive  she  drew 
out  the  little  dagger  more  than  once,  fondled  and 
talked  to  it — was  it  because  Count  de  Gallerand 
had  given  it  to  her  that  she  caressed  it  so  fondly  ? 
She  was  not  admitted  at  Madame  Mouton's,  ivJiy 
may  be  easily  imagined.  Nevertheless  it  was  a 
cruel  disappointment  to  Dorothy,  who  had  built  so 
much  upon  seeing  Madame  Mouton,  and  convinc- 
ing her  of  the  legality  of  her  marriage  when  she 
showed  the  marriage  certificate.     The  only  thing 


•J 


t 


KKRCllllil'S  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


261 


<1 


left  for  her  to  do  now  was  to  write,  and  this  she  did 
immediately  upon  her  return  to  the  pension,  send- 
ing her  letter,  with  a  copy  of  the  certificate  en- 
closed, by  a  private  messenger,  with  instructions 
to  wait  for  an  answer.  In  the  course  of  an  hour 
the  letter  sent  was  returned  unopened. 

What  should  she  do  now?  Everything  was 
thwarting  her.  She  felt  like  a  caged  lion  beating 
itself  against  the  bars.  Should  she  go  to  her  hus- 
band and  beg  him  not  to  leave  her?  No,  never! 
She  was  almost  beside  herself  with  a  sense  of  his 
injustice,  at  what  he  was  making  her  suffer;  if  she 
coaxed  him  back,  for  how  long  would  it  be — a 
year,  a  week,  a  day?  She  dared  not  think,  she 
would  go  mad  if  she  did  ;  she  must  stifle  thought 
again  in  action.  Hastily  throwing  on  her 
travelling  cloak  she  sought  the  open  air.  She 
never  knew  what  direction  she  took,  nor  was  she 
conscious  of  any  definite  purpose,  but  she  walked 
mechanically  on,  on,  until  at  length  it  dawned 
upon  her  that  she  was  in  I'lmpasse  H^l^ne,  in  front 
of  Count  de  Gallerand's  studio.  Though  late,  the 
grandc  portc-cocJicre  was  still  open.  In  that 
Bohemian  quarter,  artists  are  not  particular  about 
such  trifles,  nor  concierges  suspicious,  for  people 
in  the  guise  of  models  go  in  and  out  at  all  hours, 
day  and  night. 

Dorothy  mechanically  turned  into  the  court- 
yard, then  stealthily  mounted  the  stairs,  listened 


* 


262 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOUI.S. 


a  moment  in  the  passage,  selected  a  key  from  her 
bunch,  and  noiselessly  unlocked  the  studio  door. 
The  gas  in  the  court  sufficiently  lighted  the  room 
to  enable  her  to  grope  her  way  to  the  glass 
closets  dividing  the  atelier  from  the  bedroom. 
Into  one  of  these  she  glided,  crouching  down  and 
hiding  like  a  thief  or  murderer,  listening  with 
bated  breath — waiting — for  what  ? — her  husband's 
return  ? — what  then  ?  She  never  knew.  From  time 
to  time  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  stairs  or  in 
the  passage  made  her  almost  rigid  with  excite- 
ment, and  stopped  for  the  moment  the  monoto- 
nous refrain  hammering  without  mercy  upon  her 
brain — "  Going  to  be  married  on  Thursday  ;  "  then 
she  would  feel  for  her  little  dagger,  unsheathe  it, 
fondle  it — but  as  the  steps  passed  on,  she  would 
murmur  piteously  :  "I'm  not  Charlotte  Corday, 
cette  Jiystcrique  dc  la  passion  politique.  My  God  ! 
my  God  !  this  is  driving  me  mad." 

It  was  long  after  the  clock  struck  two  when 
steps  in  the  passage  really  stopped  at  the  studio 
door,  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  Count 
de  Gallerand  entered — but  not  alone.  Some  one 
was  with  him  whom  Dorothy  recognized,  as  soon 
as  the  lamp  was  lit,  to  be  Faul  Caro.  The  latter 
was  saying  as  the  door  opened  : 

"  But  where  have  you  been  all  the  evening,  mon 
ami?  I've  been  here  at  least  a  dozen  times  look- 
ing for  you  ;  the  boys  intended  making  a  night  of 


\ 


•"ffmfmmi^ 


KRKCIIIhFS  TO  1/ UN T  SOULS. 


263 


it  ;  surely  you've  not  been  cftc.':  votrc  fiana'e  until 
this  hour." 

"Hardly;  I  left  Madame  Mouton's  directly 
Lfter  dinner.     I've  been  killing  time  since." 

**y<'  coniprcnds — bidding  a  last  fond  adieu  to  the 
friends  of  your  youth." 

''Pas  du  tout;  I  did  that  years  ago,  when  I 
married." 

"  Married !  mon  Dun  !  you  arc  not  a  widower, 
Gaston  ?  " 

''  Non,  plait  h  Dicn,  but  I'm  a  married  man. 
I  thought  you  knew.  I  married  Miss  Pembroke 
in  England." 

"  I  knew  you  were  living  together,  when  I  was 
ordered  to  Africa,  but  I  thought  it  a  liaison — 
nothing  more  serious  than  that." 

"  Ma  foi  !  ccst  vrai ;  we  were  married  all  right 
in  England,  but  unfortunately  for  Psyche  it  does 
not  hold  good  in  France,  and  I'm  going  through 
the  farce  again  to-morrow  to  please  manian." 

"  I  suppose  she's  lost  her  good  looks,  Tund,  par 
consequence,  all  hold  upon  you,  mon  gar^on.  I 
always  thought  her  beauty  too  ideal  to  last  after 
marriage." 

*'  No,  she's  as  beautiful  as  ever — superbe — and 
I  am  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  ever.  Mal- 
heureusement,  one  can't  live  on  love.  C'est  net. 
La  comtesse  mbre  holds  the  purse-strings,  and 
there's  no  chance  left  me  but  to  sacrifice  myself 


264 


KERCIIIErS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


on  hymen's  altar  ^>  unc  partic  trcs  convc7iahIe. 
Ticiis !  (lid  I  ever  show  you  the  first  portrait  I 
made  of  her?  Void !  "  saying  which  he  took  up 
the  lamp  and  proceeded  to  the  further  corner  of 
the  atelier,  where   the  picture  stood  on  an  easel. 

As  their  backs  were  towards  her,  Dorothy  did 
not  catch  what  they  said  while  lookinj^  at  it. 
As  they  returned.  Monsieur  Caro  inquired  : 

"llow  can  you  throw  overboard  anyone  so 
lovely  as  that  for  a  fright — pardon  me — like 
Mademoiselle  Mouton?" 

"  E/i  !  inon  Dicit  !  I'm  not  throwing  her  over. 
Besides,  she'll  never  forsake  me  ;  she  loves  me  too 
well  to  live  without  me  ;  she  adores  me  ;  en  tin 
inoty  Paul,  she's  too  good  for  me  ;  she's  an  angel. 
C\'st  vrai,  cest  vrai ;  jc  nc  snis  quun  sot" 

"  Prcncz  garde"  said  Paul,  as  he  wrung  his 
friend's  hand  in  yiiiYtxng/' prenea  garele,  nion  ami, 
that  you  do  not  exchange  this  angel  for  a  devil." 

After  his  friend's  departure,  Count  deGallerand 
stood  for  fully  ten  minutes  in  front  of  Dorothy's 
portrait — a  long  time  for  such  a  mercurial  and 
emotional  nature  as  his — then  carefully  re-cover- 
ing the  picture  and  turning  it  to  the  wall,  he 
hastily  prepared  for  bed,  and  in  a  short  time 
Dorothy  knew  by  his  regular  breathing  he  was 
fast  asleep.  Stealing  cautiously  on  tiptoe  from 
her  hiding-place,  she  fell  on  her  knees  by  the  side 
of  the  bed ;    the  little  vcilleiise,   in  its  red  glass 


f 


•^■.-T-mmmfi' 


K'KRCIllEFS  TO  IIUXT  SOULS. 


265 


\ 


sliadc,  cast  a  dim,  soft  li^lit  around.  How  beauti- 
ful her  husband  was,  she  thou^dit.  as  he  lay  there 
with  one  arm  under  his  head  like  a  tired  child 
exhausted  with  play  ;  he  seemed  to  her  the  em- 
bodiment of  youth,  beauty,  and  perfect  health. 
Oh,  how  she  loved  him  ! 

"  I  cannot,  will  not  give  him  to  another  ;  I'll 
kill  him  first,"  she  hissed  between  her  teeth  ;  then 
she  drew  the  little  da^^ger  from  her  bosom,  un- 
sheathed it,  looked  at  it,  talked  to  it,  ran  her 
fingers  along  the  edge,  breathed  on  it,  polished  it 
with  her  cloak,  then — raised  it.  A  slight  noise 
startled  her  ;  the  dagger  dropped  from  her  hand. 
Hardly  daring  to  breathe,  she  glanced  furtively 
round.  After  a  time  her  courage  returned,  she 
picked  the  dirk  up  and  hastily  thrust  it  back  into 
her  bosom.  "  I  thought  some  one  was  here !  " 
she  gasped,  as  she  sank  once  more  on  her  knees 
by  the  bedside. 

Some  One  was  there ;  the  Eye  tliat  neither 
slumbereth  nor  sleepeth  was  watching  over  her. 
This  incident  had  changed  the  current  of  her 
thoughts — life  hangs  on  such  a  chance  ;  the  spirit 
of  Charlotte  Corday,  that  hysterical  murderess, 
had  departed,  and  her  own  good  angel  was  once 
more  in  the  ascendant.  Dorothy  was  in  that 
highly  emotional  state  that  the  slightest  thing 
turns  from  hate  to  love,  from  laughter  to  tears. 

Count  de   Gallerand   petulantly  flung  out  his 


I 


T 


aJiffikJfeUiy.!y5BBS5g3 


.<^F=— " 


266 


Kl'.KCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


arms,  smiled  in  his  sleep,  and  murmured  "  Psyche, 
Psyche,  ma  biai-aivu'e  !  "  These  simple  words 
touched  her  heart  as  nothing  else  could  have 
done.  She  broke  down  completely,  burying  her 
head  in  the  bedclothes  in  an  uncontrollable 
fit  of  weeping — the  first  tears  she  had  shed 
since  getting  his  letter.  Finally,  warned  by 
voices  in  the  corridor  and  courtyard  that  the 
world  was  up,  she  stifled  her  sobs,  dried  her  eyes, 
and  cautiously  rose,  stopping  long  enough,  how- 
ever, in  the  atelier  to  write  a  few  words. 

**  He  may  yet  give  up  this  mad  project  and 
come  back  to  me  when  he  knows  of  my  vigil  near 
him  last  night,"  she  thought,  as  she  placed  her 
little  note  conspicuously  open  on  the  writing- 
desk.  Then,  softly  opening  and  shutting  the 
door,  she  ran  quickly  downstairs,  through  the 
courtyard,  up  ITmpasse  Hel^ne,  into  Avenue  de 
Clichy.  It  was  quite  two  miles  to  Avenue  Mar- 
ceau,  but  she  would  not  take  a  tram  or  cab,  a 
rushed  ahead,  looking  neither  to  the  right  hand 
nor  to  the  left,  her  mind  in  a  whirl  of  humiliation, 
self-accusation,  and  contrition.  She  was  calm 
now,  but  it  was  the  calm  of  despair.  "  Thank 
God,  I  did  not  do  it  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  one  moment 

more  and  I    should  have  been "     At  length 

she  began  to  be  conscious  of  physical  weariness ; 
she  had  neither  eaten  nor  slept  for  thirty-six 
hours ;  how  interminable    the    blocks   appeared  ! 


J 


I 


■:«  • 


!l 

1 1 

I 


KERCIITEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


267 


She  was  completely  exhausted  when  at  last  she 
reached  the  pension,  and  had  just  strength  enougli 
left  to  crawl  upstairs  and  stagger  blindly  to  her 
room,  where  she  threw  herself,  without  undress- 
ing, upon  the  bed,  and  immediately  sank  into  the 
heavy  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

Alice  Jeffreys  had  not  seen  Dorothy  since  the 
day  she  left  the  Home  until  they  met  on  rue  de 
la  Paix.  These  two  years  had  been  anything  but 
happy  ones  to  the  former;  in  them  she  had 
changed  from  a  fresh,  blooming  young  girl  with 
flaxen  locks,  into  a  stout,  red-faced,  full-bosomed 
young  woman,  with  bleached  golden-red  hair. 
She,  too,  had  suffered  terribly.  Plain  girls  have 
their  temptations  as  well  as  pretty  ones.  The 
generally  accepted  idea  that  ugly  girls  redeem 
their  plainness  by  being  invariably  clever,  intel- 
lectual, or  good  is  fallacious.  As  a  rule  they 
are  ambitious,  and  easily  led  astray  by  flattery. 
Jealous  and  envious  of  their  more  highly-favored 
sisters,  often  they  feign  goodness  and  piety,  con- 
demning balls  and  parties  because  they  believe 
they  themselves  do  not  shine  there.  Ugly  Mag- 
dalens  are  far  commoner  than  beauties.  Alice, 
on  the  contrary,  instead  of  imposing  her  virtues 
upon  others,  admitted  that  she  was  bad,  and,  as  if 
in  revenge,  railed  at  goodness,  religion,  and  the 
powers  that  be  ;  nevertheless,  in  her  heart  she 
was  true,  loyal,  loving.    Hardly  had  she  answered 


T- 


268 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


Dorothy  the  day  before,  ere  she  was  sincerely 
ashamed  of  her  words,  and  eagerly  longed  to-day 
to  beg  her  forgiveness. 

When  she  entered  the  room  at  noon  and  found 
la  Comtesse  de  Gallerand  lying  there,  tossing 
restlessly  and  muttering  incoherently,  she  was 
deeply  moved,  having  read  that  morning  in  the 
Petit  Journal  an  account  of  Count  de  Gallerand's 
intended  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Mouton  at 
St.  Philippe  du  Roule.  She  immediately  took  in 
the  situation  ;  an  hotel  was  no  place  to  be  ill  in  ; 
she  would  consult  a  physician  about  moving  her. 
But  before  doing  so  she  decided,  with  her  good 
common-sense,  that  it  would  be  better  to  get  an 
idea,  if  possible,  of  the  state  of  Dorothy's  finances. 
Finding  a  bunch  of  keys  on  the  dressing-table, 
she  opened  the  various  boxes  and  valises,  in  one 
of  which  she  found  la  Comtesse  de  Gallerand's 
bank-book  and  a  thousand  francs  in  notes,  which 
decided  Alice  upon  removing  her  immediately  tc 
a  little  private  hospital,  rue  des  Acacias,  if  the 
doctor  agreed. 


■^MT 


KERCniEI^S  TO  nUNl^  SOULS. 


269 


CHAPTER  III. 

"You  may  take  sarza  to  open  the  liver,  steel  to  open  the 
spleen,  flower  of  sulphur  for  the  lungs,  castorcum  for  the  brain  ; 
but  no  receipt  opencth  the  heart  but  a  true  friend,  to  whom  you 
impart  griefs,  joys,  fears,  hopes,  suspicions,  counsels,  and  what- 
soever lieth  upon  the  heart  to  oppress  it,  in  a  kind  of  civil 
shrift,  or  confession." — Bacon. 

There  is  no  need  to  dwell  upon  Dorothy's  long 
illness  and  slow  recovery.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
for  weeks  her  life  hung  suspended,  as  it  were,  be- 
tween this  world  and  the  next.  When  the  fever 
left,  a  torpor  seized  her  body  and  mind,  which  in 
turn  gave  place,  as  she  regained  consciousness,  to 
a  confused  sense  of  some  great  calamity.  Her  de- 
pression was  terrible  ;  even  her  faith  in  God  was 
shaken  ;  those  about  her  feared  for  her  reason. 
She  implored  the  doctor  to  put  her  out  of  her 
misery — to  end  her  life.  Nothing  roused  her,  not 
even  her  child,  if  she  realized  indeed  that  it  was 
her  own.  She  showed  no  interest  in  it ;  she  was 
heartsick,  with  that  peculiar  feeling  that  comes 
to  us  when  someone  djarly  loved  and  trusted 
forsakes  us.  Where  should  she  turn — to  whom — 
for  help  ?     Powerless  to  move,  incapable  of  think- 


i 


I       i 

I     ! 


270 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


ing,  this  had  been  Dorothy's  state  for  weeks; 
then  she  took  to  counting  the  flowers  on  the 
cretonne  curtains,  and  one  day  she  feebly  enquired 
"What  o'clock  is  it?" 

"  Deux  heurcs  inoins  Ic  quart,  madame  la 
comtesse,"  the  nurse  answered,  glancing  at  the 
little  clock  on  the  mantel. 

"  Only  that ;  comme  ccst  long!"  Dorothy  wearily 
sighed,  much  to  the  nurse's  delight,  who  knew 
she  must  be  getting  better. 

The  next  day  the  ticking  became  intolerable ; 
she  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  begged  to  have  the 
clock  removed  ;  then  she  showed  some  curiosity 
about  herself,  and  asked  Mademoiselle  Grimelund, 
her  attendant,  where  she  was,  and  how  she  came 
there.  When  told  that  Miss  Jeffreys  had  brought 
her,  she  expressed  a  wish  to  see  Alice  when  she 
called  again,  as  they  said  she  was  in  the  habit  of 
doing  every  day. 

Dorothy,  who  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  looked  up 
with  a  winning  smile  of  welcome  as  Alice  entered 
her  room  that  evening. 

**  Mademoiselle  Grimelund  told  me  to  come 
right  in;  I  hope  I'm  not  intruding,"  she  said, 
apologetically. 

"  Far  from  it  ;  I  asked  for  you,"  Dorothy 
gently  replied,  at  the  same  time  wearily  shutting 
her  eyes  as  if  too  tired  to  speak. 

In  reality  she  felt  an  insurmountable  shrinking 


-A 


-    i«H.I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


271 


from  her  visitor.  Not  only  the  change  in  AHce's 
personal  appearance  shocked  her,  but  the  timbre 
of  her  voice  affected  her  unpleasantly ;  it  had 
lost  all  the  sweet  Irish  warmth  of  tone  that  it 
formerly  had,  and  was  now,  though  low,  harsh 
and  bold,  v/ith  a  want  of  restraint  about  it  that  is 
characteristic  of  a  certain  class  of  women. 

As  Alice  stood  there,  looking  down  upon  the 
pale,  deathlike  face,  from  which  all  traces  of 
passion  had  departed,  leaving  only  a  pathetic 
sadness,  tears  filled  her  eyes  and  choked  her 
voice.  "  How  heavenly  she  is !  not  a  bit  goody- 
goody,  either.  Truly  some  are  refined  by  suffer- 
ing— but  not  all — or  is  it  the  kind  of  suffering,  I 
wonder?"  Stooping,  she  took  one  of  Dorothy's 
little  thin,  transparent  hands  in  hers  and  covered 
it  with  burning  kisses.  The  sight  of  the  red, 
flushed  face  and  swollen  lids  touched  Dorothy 
more  th;  t  she  could  express  in  words.  She 
silently  drew  Alice  down  beside  her,  put  her  arm 
around  her  neck,  and  kissed  her  lovingly  and  ten- 
derly with  soft  kisses,  such  as  a  mother  gives  to 
a  wayward  child.  When  Alice  took  her  leave 
shortly  after,  it  was  with  a  firm  resolve  to  lead 
henceforth  another  life — to  live  worthy  of 
Dorothy's  friendship,  and  to  look  at  things 
from  her  standpoint.  Dorothy,  too,  felt  bet- 
ter   for  Alice's  visit  ;    it    had  taken  her    out  of 


/ 


''"'vm^tm-f-^:. 


272 


KERCHIEFS  TO  IIUXT  SOULS. 


herself,  and  shown  her  that  she  was  not  the  only 
one  in  trouble  in  the  world  ;  the  sympathy  she 
gave  reacted  upon  herself. 

A  few  days  after,  when  Alice  came,  Dorothy 
was  feeling  so  much  better  that  she  insisted  upon 
having  a  long  talk. 

"  Yes,"  Alice  said,  in  answer  to  one  of  her  en- 
quiries— "  yes,  I've  gone  to  the  bad  ;  there's  no 
use  mincing  matters.  After  you  left,  things  got 
worse  ;  there  was  no  one  I  cared  for  at  the  Home, 
and  not  a  living  creature  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
cared  what  became  of  Alice  Jeffreys.  Chance 
threw  in  my  way  a  young  artist,  or  rather 
threw  me  in  his,  for  he  decidedly  got  the  best  of 
it.  Well,  he  wanted  me  to  sit  for  a  picture  he 
was  painting ;  I  was  flattered,  thinking  it  would 
be  nice  to  have  my  portrait  in  the  salon.  En 
passant,  the  work  was  not  accepted.  Besides,  it 
was  an  easy  way  to  earn  a  few  francs,  better  than 
wearing  one's  shoes  out  in  walking  lessons.  At 
first  I  sat  for  the  face  only,  then  for  the  neck  and 
shoulders,  only  decollete  ('  as  at  a  ball,'  he  urged) ; 
but  gradually  the  chemise  dropped  lowei  and 
lower,  and  at  last,  hardly  without  my  knowing 
how  or  when  it  happened,  I  was  a  model  for 
everything.  Aprcs  cela,  it  was  all  up  with  me  ;  a 
kiss  finished  the  business,  and  made  me  a  slave 
to  the  meanest  wretch  that  ever  breathed  the 
breath  of  life." 


n 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


273 


"Poor  child!  Where  is  he  now?"  Dorothy 
asked,  with  ready  sympathy. 

"  In  his  own  country.  Coward !  he  was  in 
mortal  terror  of  me  ;  I  don't  think  he'll  dare  to 
show  his  face  here  again." 

"And  how  did  you  get  into  a  shop,  dear?" 

"  Oh  !  I  had  the  influenza  badly,  was  taken  to 
the  hospital  Beau-jon,  and  while  there  got 
friendly  with  a  young  shop-girl  in  the  next  bed 
to  mine  ;    when  I  came  out  she  found  me  a  place." 

"  And  do  you  like  it  better  than  teaching?" 

"  Hardly  !  it  was  Hobson's  choice ;  I  couldn't 
go  out  governessing  any  longer ;  no  one  would 
have  me." 

"  I   am  so  sorry,   dear ;  can  I  do  anything  for 


you 


P" 


"  No,  nothing ;  only  say  you  forgive  me  for 
saying  such  a  nasty  thing  to  you  that  day  when 
you  spoke  to  me  on  the  rue  de  la  Paix — and  you 
so  sweet.  Ah  !  Madame  de  Gallerand,  you  can't 
imagine  how  bad  I  felt  about  it  when  I  found 
you  ill ;  I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

"  Don't  think  of  it  again,  I  beg  of  you ; 
that  did  not  cause  my  illness.  Mademoiselle 
Grimelund  has  told  me  how  kind  you  have  been  ; 
it  was  you,  she  says,  who  got  me  in  here." 

"  Yes,  I   did    what   I   could,  but  that  was    not 

much,  except   indirectly ;  I  wrote  a  note   to  the 

Princess  Nesvitsky." 
18 


vs-r^- 


274 


KEKCIIIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


"  What  made  you  think  of  writing  to  the  prin- 
cess?    Who  told  you  that  she  knew  me?" 

"  Oh,  I  knew  a  great  deal  more  about  you,  dear 
madame,  than  you  imar^ined.  You  had  not  been 
at  the  Home  a  day  before  Count  de  Gallerand 
struck  up  an  acquaintance  with  me  (all  on  your 
account),  but  I  was  bete  enough  to  feel  flattered. 
Silly  fool  that  I  was,  I  allowed  myself  to  become 
his  tool  ;  it  was  through  me  he  knew  where  your 
room  was,  and  when  you  were  indoors  and  when 
out.  Believe  me,  though,  I  never  knowingly  did 
you  any  harm  ;  in  fact,  I  loved  and  admired  you 
too  much  for  that ;  I  really  thought  I  was  doing 
you  a  kindness  in  forwarding  your  love-affair.  Do 
you  remember  the  discussions  we  used  to  have 
about  marriage,  and  how  you  used  to  laugh  at  me 
because  I  stood  up  for  matchmakers  and  said  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  real  charity  if  some  good 
matron  would  only  occupy  herself  in  mating  a  few 
of  us  governesses?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  perfectly,"  sighed  Dorothy  ; 
"  are  you  of  the  same  opinion  still?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am.  Under  the  existing  state  of 
things,  if,  as  two-thirds  at  least  of  the  human  race 
profess  to  think,  marriage  is  the  aim  and  object 
of  life — what  we  were  created  for — why  don't  they 
give  those  girls  who  want  to  marry  an  opportunity, 
and  not  put  every  possible  obstacle  in  their  way  ? 
Even  servants  have  a  better  chance  ;  the  house- 


WliWI— 


1 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


275 


maid  may  keep  company  with  the  butler,  coach- 
man, or  groom  ;  the  governess  alone  is  a  social 
pariah  ;  the  domestics  are  beneath  her,  the  sons 
of  the  house  are  above  her;  she  alone  has  no 
'  followers,'  no  evening  out.  It's  downright 
tyranny,  I  declare." 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  Alice." 

'*  Yes,  experience  has  not  changed,  only  con- 
firmed, my  former  opinion.  But,  to  go  back,  I 
did  for  you,  dear  madamc,  just  what  I  would  have 
liked  some  one  to  do  for  me.  Count  de  Gallerand 
was  most  discreet  and  divulged  no  secrets ;  but  I 
was  on  the  alert,  and  from  words  dropped  by  your- 
self and  others  was  soon  an  roura /it  with  your  life 
in  Paris.  One  day,  some  six  months  after  your 
marriage,  I  bought  a  Sunday  Soldi  to  look  at  the 
advertisements.  Now,  what  did  my  eye  light 
upon,  the  first  thing,  but  the  Princess  Ncsvitsky's 
name  in  connection  with  a  sensational  account  of 
a  row  at  the  Hotel  Pare  Monceau.  I  got  the 
papers  daily  for  some  time  after,  but  little  more 
appeared  ;  you  see,  it  was  tacitly  allowed  by  the 
authorities  to  drop,  there  being  too  many  of  the 
gilded  society  youths  implicated.  Hotel  Nesvitsky 
was,  as  you  know,  a  jolly  joint,  and  the  resort  of 
a  jolly  crew,  where  a  jolly  lot  of  iouis  and  napo- 
leons changed  hands  in  a  jolly  short  time  ;  in  a 
word,  it  was  an  ideal  gambling  palace,  where  names 
and  doings  were  perfectly  safe,  and  reputations 


\ 


276 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


religiously  guarded.  On  this  particular  night  a 
dare-devil  young  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  having 
lost  heavily,  accused  one  of  the  guests — a  prince, 
playing  at  the  same  table  as  himself — of  cheating. 
Under  ordinary  circumstances  a  duel  would  have 
settled  matters  most  amicably;  unfortunately  a 
prince  cannot  accept  a  challenge  from  a  com- 
moner, and  the  lieutenant  would  accept  no  one 
as  substitute.  Insults  and  blows  were  exchanged, 
glasses  broken,  tables  and  chairs  overturned  ;  then, 
as  if  to  cap  the  climax,  Don  Estoracho,  who  had 
been  doing  his  utmost  to  reconcile  the  belliger- 
ents, suddenly  dropped  down  dead." 

"  How  terrible !  And  the  poor  princess,  what 
did  she  do  then  ?  Did  it  not  almost  kill  her  ?  " 
Dorothy  inquired. 

"  It  would  have  killed  any  common  woman, 
socially,  if  not  bodily,  but  the  princess  is  not  a 
common  woman,  consequently  came  out  of  it  mar- 
vellously well.  It  seems  she  had  made  to  herself 
friends  of  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  who 
testified  to  her  many  amiable  qualities;  there  was 
a  feeling,  I  am  told,  that  she  had  been  mastered 
in  some  underhand  way  by  Don  Estoracho,  and 
her  liberation  was  hailed  with  delight.  I  must 
say  public  opinion  seems  to  me  very  one-sided, 
and  society's  code  of  laws  very  extraordinary." 

"In  what  respect  ?  " 

**  Why,  gambling  is  hedged  in  with  all  sorts  of 


T'siP*'*"^ 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


277 


rules  ;  fair  play  where  your  pocket  is  the  question 
— be  honorable  in  money  matters — honor  even 
among  thieves;  but  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  where 
only  a  woman  is  at  stake,  cheat  and  hoodwink — all 
is  fair.  He  honest,  the  world  says,  in  everything 
but  love.  However,  to  all  appearance,  the  prin- 
cess was  deeply  touched  by  Don  Kstoracho's  death 
and  sincerely  mourned  him ;  at  all  events  she 
gave  up  her  hote/  and  shut  herself  up  in  a  chateau 
somewhere  in  Calvados.  When  you  see  her, 
madame,  you  will  notice  a  great  change ;  she,  too, 
has  suffered." 

•'  Yes,"  murmured  Dorothy,  "  few  in  this  world 
are  exempt  from  sorrow.  I  sometimes  think  it  is 
only  those  who  are  without  the  higher  soul  who 
are  perfectly  happy,  thoroughly  contented  with 
life ;  they,  like  the  brutes,  have  their  portion  in 
this  world  ;  there  is  no  future  state  for  them,  only 
annihilation.  How  easy  to  bear  are  troubles  of 
the  body  in  comparison  with  those  of  the  soul  ! 
It  is  the  soul  too  that  vivifies  and  glorifies  the 
body." 

"  If  at  our  birth  the  Giver  of  life  breathes  into 
each  of  us  a  soul  (the  breath  of  life),  and  we  do 
not  cultivate  it,  but  refuse  it,  what  do  you  think 
becomes  of  it  ?  "  Alice  asked. 

"  I  have  often  wondered  and  pondered  long 
upon  that.  It  may  be  it  is  given  to  some 
other  mortal ;  certainly  souls  do  leave  the  body 


V] 


^     ^  mF  s^  i  /  ^//// 


y 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


1^128  ||2.5 
■^  1^  III  2.2 
2.0 


1-4    ill  1.6 


// 


'^< 


278 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


I     I 


in  which  they  were  first  placed — '■fly  *  is  the  word 
used  in  Scripture.  Whether  God  makes  a  new 
body  for  that  soul,  or  whether  some  favored  few 
are  given  a  twofold  spirit,  I  know  not,  I  dare  not 
say.  All  sin  is  hateful,  but  how  terrible  are  the 
sins  against  the  soul !  They  are  the  most  subtle 
of  all  sins,  the  very  ones  the  devil  takes  upon 
himself  to  propagate  and  protect ;  it  was  the  sin 
of  our  first  parents  ;  it  is  the  .sin  of  which  the  ser- 
pent is  the  sign.  When  the  devil,  that  old  serpent, 
appeared  to  Eve,  what  did  he  say  ?  '  Ye  shall  not 
surely  die;'  and  what  has  the  Lord  promised 
these  poor  hunted  creatures  ?  Listen,  dear,  and 
take  heart :  *  I  will  let  the  souls  go,  even  the  souls 
that  ye  hunt  to  make  them  fly. '  " 

*'  After  all,  my  writing  to  the  princess  was  a 
happy  thought ;  if  she  had  been  your  mother  she 
could  not  have  been  more  devoted.  She  has  spent 
hours  here  every  day  since  your  little  baby  was 
born  ;  it  was  she  who  had  it  baptized.  She  said, 
mademoiselle  was  '  si  ddvote^  she  was  sure  she 
would  wish  it." 

**  So  he  has  been  baptized  ?  Poor  little  waif ! 
what  name  did  they  give  him  ? "  Dorothy  in- 
quired. 

"Gaston  Henri." 

•'  Why  did  they  call  him  Henry  ?  " 

"  It  was  I  suggested  it,"  Alice  hesitatingly  ad- 
mitted.    Then  she  added,  '*  Dear  rnadame,  I  have  a 


•v.- 


'  ) 


KRRCniEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


279 


confession  to  make  ;  I  was  not  going  to  bother  you 
witii  it  until  you  were  quite  veil,  but  as  we  are 
on  the  subject  now,  here  goes.  Do  you  remem- 
ber giving  me  a  letter  to  post  a  few  days  after 
you  came  to  the  Home?  Well,  I  never  posted 
it;  Count  de  Gallerand  waylaid  me  on  my  way  to 
the  box  and  wheedled  the  letter  from  me;  said  he 
was  going  to  the  general  postoffice,  and  would 
drop  it  in  there.  At  first  I  would  not  give  it  to 
him  ;  then  he  asked  to  look  at  the  address,  and 
would  not  give  it  back ;  this  impressed  the  ad- 
dress upon  me,  and  on  my  return  I  wrote  it  down 
in  my  note-book.  I  told  Princess  Nesvitsky,  and 
she  advised  my  writing  Mr.  Alexander  and  telling 
him  the  facts,  which  I  did.  You  know,  I  sup- 
pose, he  is  in  Paris  ?  He  came  on  immediately 
after  getting  my  letter.  He  was  awfully  cut  up 
about  your  illness." 

"  Was  he?  "  Dorothy  asked,  in  a  choked  voice, 
as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She,  who  had  suf- 
fered neglect  so  patiently  and  uncomplainingly, 
could  not  hear  of  this  simple  act  of  friendship 
without  emotion. 

"  There,  I've  talked  quite  enough  for  one  even- 
ing. I'm  not  a  very  good  nurse,  I  fear,"  Alice 
said  sadly,  as  she  shook  up  and  arranged  the  sofa 
pillows  ;  "  have  I  tired  you  to  death  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  have  cheered  me  up 
amazingly.     I  feel  quite  like  another  creature." 


■«■ 


np 


; 


280 


KKRCIIJEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


"  Perhaps,  then,  you  will  let  mc  fetch  your  dear 
little  baby  to  say  good-night  before  I  go  ?  Please 
do  ;  he's  such  a  darling.  We  all  love  him  dearly. 
Oh  !  what  would  I  not  give  if  he  were  mine." 

Dorothy  assented,  and  Alice  rushed  off  for 
"  baby."  In  a  few  minutes  she  returned  with  an 
animated  bundle  of  lace  and  cambric  in  her  arms, 
closely  followed  by  a  superb  nourrice^  gorgeous 
in  apron,  cape,  cap,  and  ribbons.  Dorothy  could 
hardly  believe  that  the  beautiful  little  creature 
that  Alice  was  hugging  and  kissing  was  her  very 
own,  but  when  she  took  it  in  her  arms  and  it 
looked  at  her  with  its  great  serious  eyes,  all  the 
mother  instinct  in  her  awoke,  and  she  clasped 
it  to  her  bosom  in  ecstasy. 

From  that  day  forward  her  child  was  seldom 
out  of  her  sight. 


KKKCHJl:l-S  JO  JIUXT  SOULS. 


281 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Ainsi  tous  deux  fuyaient  les  cruautes  du  sort, 
L'enfdiit  dans  le  sommeil,  et  rhomme  dans  la  mort." 

— Mussi-t. 

It  is  again  September,  a  year  to  the  day  from 
that  on  which  Dorothy  first  clasped  her  child  to 
her  heart.  During  this  time  Harry  Alexander 
(now  Sir  Harry,  and  living  in  England,  since  his 
elder  brother  had  been  thrown  from  his  horse  and 
killed  on  the  hunting-field)  had  offered  every 
inducement  he  could  think  of  to  get  Dorothy  to 
leave  France  ;  but  she  preferred  to  accept  tem- 
porarily the  urgent  invitation  of  the  princess  to 
make  her  home  with  her.  The  latter,  deeply 
affected  by  Don  Estoracho's  sad  death  from  apo- 
plexy or  heart-failure,  had  given  up  her  hotel  in 
Paris,  put  her  son  at  school  in  England,  and  set- 
tled down  to  be  Lady  Bountiful  in  a  small  village 
in  Normandy.  This  quiet  life  suited  Dorothy 
perfectly,  and  she  might  have  been  comparatively 
happy  with  her  boy  had  it  not  been  for  the  con- 
tinual anxiety  she  was  in,  never  knowing  what  the 


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I   I 


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K'KRCIItEFS  TO  JIUNT  SOULS. 


man  she  still  called  husband  might  take  it  into  his 
head  to  do  next.  He  was  seldom  for  an  instant 
out  of  her  thoughts,  though  his  name  never 
passed  her  lips ;  indeed,  he  was  tacitly  ignored  by 
the  little  company  of  people  who  still  befriended 
her. 

A  day  came,  however,  when  Dorothy  received 
a  letter  by  the  post,  which  terribly  upset  her. 
The  princess,  divining  easily  from  whom  it  came, 
ordered  the  mail-bag  to  be  brought  to  her  in 
future,  and  was  careful  that  no  more  letters  from 
the  count  should  reach  his  wife,  taking  it  upon 
herself  to  return  them  unopened.  At  last  these 
became  so  frequent  that  she  wrote  to  Sir  Harry 
for  advice.  He  immediately  came  over  to  France, 
hoping  to  persuade  Dorothy  to  return  with  him 
to  England,  and  there  to  procure  a  legal  separa- 
tion;  but  Dorothy  gave  Sir  Harry  to  understand, 
in  a  few  words,  that  she  did  not  consider  Count 
de  Gallerand  less  her  husband  because  he  ha^ ' 
gone  through  the  farce  of  a  second  marriage  with 
the  woman  he  was  now  living  with  ;  and  should 
he  ask  her,  his  own  wife,  to  come  back  to  him, 
she  would  do  so. 

Affairs  were  in  this  state  when  the  count  pre- 
sented himself  «n  person  at  the  chateau.  The 
princess  had  instructed  her  maUre  (ThStcl  (our 
old  friend  Daniel)  what  to  do  in  such  an  emer- 
gency, and  Count  de  Gallerand  was  refused  admis- 


''«<i«a|k 


■■ 


SB 


KERCH//: IS  TO  //UXT  SOULS. 


283 


sion.  Upon  his  insisting,  with  liis  usual  audacity, 
Harry  Alexander  made  his  appearance,  and  in- 
duced Count  de  Gallerand  with  more  force  than 
moral  persuasion  to  quit  the  premises.  The 
latter  immediately  sent  Sir  Harry  a  challenge, 
which  he  declined,  at  the  same  time  threat- 
ening to  give  Count  de  Gallerand  up  to  the 
civil  authorities  if  he  did  not  immediately 
leave  the  place ;  which,  after  a  little  brag- 
ging and  abuse,  Count  de  Gallerand  did,  as 
nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  remaining.  All 
might  have  ended  here,  had  not  this  little  episode 
leaked  out  and  finally  found  its  way  into  the  daily 
papers,  as  such  things  are  apt  to  do.  The  lam- 
poon was,  as  might  be  inferred,  all  in  glorification 
of  the  Frenchman  and  down  upon  the  English- 
man who  had  robbed  him  of  his  ladylove  ;  but 
Count  de  Gallerand  was  in  that  highly  excited 
state  that  nothing  will  cool  but  bloodletting,  so 
he  challenged  the  editor,  under  the  pretence  that 
he  was  avenging  an  insult  to  Dorothy,  when,  in 
reality,  it  was  the  words  of  the  squib,  "  He 
who  loves  and  runs  away,  may  live  to  love 
some  other  day,"  that  stung  him  and  hurt  his 
vanity. 

The  duel  took  place  in  the  early  morning  in 
the  Bois  de  Vincennes.  Neither  combatant  was 
much  the  worse  for  the  encounter,  except  a  slight 
wound   which   Count   de   Gallerand    received  in 


[ 


284 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


his  left  arm.  So  slight  was  it  that  the  surgeon 
present  pronounced  it  a  mere  scratch,  and  the 
Count  laughed  it  off  in  his  insouciant  manner,  as, 
shaking  hands  with  all  present,  he  invited  them 
to  a  champagne  supper  at  his  rooms  after  the 
theatre  that  evening.  A  white  night,  followed 
by  severe  pain  and  fever,  obliged  him  to  keep  his 
bed  the  next  day.  When  Harry  Alexander  saw 
his  illness  mentioned  in  the  Figaro  he  thought  it 
only  right  to  tell  Dorothy  ;  but  both  he  and  the 
princess  were  not  a  little  taken  aback  when  she  in- 
stantly declared  that  she  would  go  to  her  husband. 
That  night  she  was  at  his  bedside.  Though  la  coin- 
tessc  mere  would  never  have  sent  for  Dorothy,  she 
did  not  refuse  her  admittance,  for  her  heart  had 
been  deeply  wrung  by  her  son's  piteous  cry,  when 
delirious,  for  "  Psyche,  Psyche,  ma  bicn-aimc'e  !  " 
Dorothy  nursed  him  day  and  night,  and  was  a 
hundredfold  repaid  for  her  sacrifice  of  pride  and 
self  when  he  calmly  opened  his  eyes,  shortly  be- 
fore his  death,  knew  her,  murmured  with  his 
beautiful  smile,  "  Mafemme,  via  Psyche  !  "  turned 
over  like  a  tired  child,  and  fell  asleep,  never  to 
wake  again.  . 

La  comtesse  viire,  a  broken-hearted,  disap- 
pointed woman  since  the  death  of  her  son,  quite 
won  over  by  Dorothy's  beauty,  amiability,  and 
devotion,  arranged  that  her  grandson — Dorothy's 
little  boy — should  succeed  to  his  father's  title,  and 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUXT  SOULS. 


285 


(» 


also  that   the  estate  should  revert    to  him   upon 
her  own  death. 

The  Countess  de  Gallerand  did  not  mourn  long 
for  her  husband.  As  time  passed  and  little  things 
cropped  up  to  reveal  him  in  his  true  light,  she 
felt  that,  had  he  lived,  her  love  might  have 
changed  into  fierce  hate  ;  he  was  charming  and 
spiritucl,  but  entirely  without  conscience  and 
utterly  devoid  of  the  higher  soul,  the  pniuimi. 
What  a  revelation  it  was  to  her,  and  how  many 
mysteries  were  cleared  up,  when  the  princess  told 
her  what  she  had  been  on  the  point  of  saying 
when  Dorothy  stopped  her  the  day  she  left  Hotel 
Nesvitsky,  that  it  was  Count  de  Gallerand  who 
had  come  to  her  and  begged  her  to  write  the  note 
engaging  Dorothy  as  governess !  "  He  fancied 
you  would  be  easily  won  cJiez  uioi ;  he  did  not 
know  me,  however." 

"  Yes,  it  is  better  as  it  is  ;  God  has  settled  it  for 
me  ;  I  accept  my  life — but — I  shall  never  marry 
again,"  Dorothy  thought. 

Though  Harry  Alexander  had  gone  into 
politics  to  please  his  father,  and  was  now  a 
member  for  his  county,  he  still  found  time 
every  few  weeks  to  run  over  to  Normandy  and 
keep  Dorothy  in  touch  with  the  world.  One 
day  he  said  : 

"  I  wish  you  would  consent  to  live  in  England  ; 
I  have  a  jolly  little  place  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  un- 


A 


i 


^ 


286 


KF.R CHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


occupied,  that  shall  be  yours  if  you  will  accept 
It. 

"Thanks,  Harry,  but  I  prefer  living  in  France. 
No  one  pays  any  attention  to  me  here ;  if  I  go  to 
England  people  will  ask,  '  Is  she  the  Countess  de 
Gallerand  ?  '  then  all  my  past  life  will  be  dragged 
into  the  garish  light,  if  not  into  the  papers." 

'*  That's  easily  obviated  ;  change  your  name. 
I  will  give  you  mine  with  pleasure.  I  am  glad 
that  you  will  not  have  to  change  your  title  for  a 
plain  Mrs." 

"  Oh,  Harry !  do  you  for  a  moment  fancy  I 
think  of  such  worldly  considerations?"  she  asked, 
as  the  tears  filled  her  eyes." 

"  No,  dear  child,  I  do  not  ;  pardon  my  silly 
chafT ;  it  was  ill-timed.  The  thought  came  to  me 
while  we  were  speaking,  that  it  was  fortunate  I 
was  a  baronet,  for  your  sake,  and  I  gave  expres- 
sion to  the  thought.  But  you  have  not  answered 
me  yet ;  will  you  change  de  Gallcrand's  name  for 
miner 

"  No,  Harry,  that  would  not  mend  matters ; 
even  though  married  to  you,  the  county  people 
would  not  receive  me  without  inquiry  into  my 
past  life;  and  if  that  should  injure  your  political 
prospects,  even  you  might  in  time  come  to  regret 
having  made  a  misalliance." 

"  Dora  !  I  see  you  do  not  know  me  yet.  I  am 
not  surprised,  however;    your  knowledge  of  man 


^1 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


287 


'^ 


»  ) 


has  been  formed  upon  very  poor  data.  Confound 
society  !  let  us  cut  it  and  be  a  law  to  ourselves  ;  do 
we  not  both  know  how  rotten  it  is  ?  We'll  open 
our  hearts  and  homes  to  all  the  oppressed  and  suf- 
fering, and  our  lives  will  be  so  taken  up  seeking 
out  the  fatherless  and  forsaken,  from  our  vantage- 
ground  on  the  Isle,  that  we  shall  have  no  time  to 
entertain  the  rich  and  prosperous." 

"  Your  scheme  is  very  fascinating,  Harry  ;  it  is 
what  I  have  long  dreamed  of.  If  you  think  it 
really  feasible,  I  shall  join  you  heartily  in  the 
work  and  accept  a  cottage  as  a  loan.  I  have  a 
guest  already  in  my  mind  that  I  should  like  to 
try  the  effect  of  love  and  friendship  and  healthy 
environment  upon.     Shall  I  tell  you  her  name?" 

"  I  know  it  now.  I  can  read  your  thoughts, 
Dora,  as  easily  as  I  can  my  own  ;  her  name  is 
Alice  Jeffreys." 

From  this  the  conversation  drifted  on  to  Harry's 
favorite  hobby,  "  Marriages  of  Reason  versus 
Marriages  of  Love." 

"  I  wish,"  said  he,  "  that  I  could  have  spared 
you  these  years  of  suffering,  Dora,  but  I  could 
not;  it  was  ordained  that  you  should  'dree 
your  ain  weird.'  " 

"  I  know  it,  Harry;  how  blind  I  was!  When 
you  talked  to  me  before  I  thought  you  cold  ;  I 
never  grasped  your  ideas,  but,  oh  !  I  had  been 
brought  up  with  such  old-fashioned  notions.     I 


i 


288 


KERCHIEFS  rc  HUNT  SOULS. 


wonder  more  girls  are  not  led  astray  when  the 
whole  drift  of  education  is  emotional  ?  First,  some 
time  between  fourteen  and  twenty,  they  are  ex- 
pected to  have  a  change  of  heart,  '  become  con- 
verted,' as  they  call  it,  this  highly  sensational 
period  of  crying  and  sighing,  moaning  and  weep- 
ing, lasting  a  longer  or  shorter  time  according  to 
the  temperament  of  the  young  people.  The  more 
emotional  it  is,  the  better  pleased  are  the  elders 
and  the  greater  is  the  conversion  supposed  to  be. 
The  after-effect  of  all  this  is  to  leave  them  in  a 
highly  excited  nervous  state,  a  prey  to  the  first 
temptation.  This  is  so  well  known  that  it  is  a 
common  saying  that,  '  After  a  conversion,  the 
devil  always  comes  to  tempt,'  as  he  did  to  our 
Saviour  after  His  forty  days'  fast  in  the  wilder- 
ness. Among  certain  religious  sects  a  revival,  or 
season  of  religious  refreshment,  is  almost  invari- 
ably followed  by  a  number  of  betrothals  among 
the  younger  converts,  Satan  taking  his  revenge 
in    that  way.       I    have    thought  so  much    these 

last  few  years.     Nothing  is   left  me   but   mem- 

»» 
ory. 

"  Did  it  ever  strike  you,  Dora,  that  our  Saviour 

was  the  strongest  argument  in  favor  of  a  sensible 

union  and  against  those  of  passionate  love  ?     We 

are  told  in  the  Bible  that   He  was  born  after  the 

flesh,  a  little  child.  He  had  all  our  pains  and  woes, 

was  a  Man  of  sorrow  and  acquainted  with  grief, 


'  / 


I 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS. 


289 


>t\\ 


yet  without  sin.  We  know  that  He  had  love  for 
His  mother  and  His  friends,  varying  in  degree  ; 
one  love  for  Lazarus,  another  for  Martha,  a 
stronger  for  Mary.  The  love  that  He  bestowed 
upon  John  was  not  given  to  the  others,  and  yet 
never  once  is  it  hinted  that  He  had  that  love  that 
His  great  prototype  David  and  King  Solomon 
were  so  lavish  with,  the  sexual  love  of  woman, 
the  passion  we  laud  and  magnify  to  such  a  degree 
that  some  goody  people  would  lift  up  their  hands 
in  holy  horror  should  you  tell  them  you  did  not 
believe  in  it,  but  in  marriage  of  mutual  respect 
and  mutual  aid.  Human  nature  is  the  same  now 
that  it  was  three  thousand  years  ago.  We  still 
say  to  the  prophets  :  '  Speak  unto  us  smooth 
things ' ;  old  women  still  hunt  souls  with  ker- 
chiefs ' 

"  Yes,"  Dorothy  sighed,  "  but,  unfortunately, 
the  putting  of  kerchiefs  on  heads  is  not  confined 
to  old  women  ;  most  of  the'  hunting'  in  this  nine- 
teenth century  is  done  by  men,  *  to  slay  the  souls 
that  should  not  die,  and  to  save  the  souls  alive 
that  should  not  live.'  I  am  afraid  I  asked  too 
much  of  life  ;  it  was  impossible  to  realize  it.  I 
often  think  of  Gaston's  lovely  picture  of  *  Psyche,' 
or  *  Life  in  Death.'  It  seems  truly  as  if  nothing 
but  sorrow  and  death  will  open  women's  eyes ; 
we  have  so  long  been  deceived,   flattered,   and 

hoodwinked  that,  like  the  slaves,  we  glory  in   our 
19 


•»i 


290 


KERCHIEFS  TO  HUNT  SOULS, 


bonds.  When  I  think  that  it  is  eighteen  hundred 
years  and  more  since  the  temple  veil  was  rent, 
and  we  were  admitted  on  a  footing  with  man  to 
the  Hoi}  f  Holies,  it  is  hard  to  realize  that  we 
have  made  so  little  progress.  But  a  change  is 
coming.  The  Lord  hath  spoken:  'Your  ker- 
chiefs also  will  I  tear.'  " 


! 


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FORBES   OF    HARVARD. 

In  "  Forbes  of  Harvard"  Mr.  Elbert  Hubbard  has  pro- 
duced a  work  which  has  won  the  unqualified  praise  of  all 
lovers  of  clean,  wholesome  and  elevated  fiction.  Below 
v/e  give  some  critical  opinions  of  this  most  delightful 
work. 

" '  Forbes  of  Harvard.'  A  delicate  and  artistic  piece  of  work, 
full  of  high-toned  sentiment,  good-natured  and  tinely  shaded 
character  drawing." 

"The  hook  has  a  flavor  of  Concord,  and  the  influence  of 
Emerson,  tlie  Alcotts  and  Thoreau  is  felt  throughout  it.  It  is 
philosophical,  moral,  religious  and  social  in  its  bearings,  but  no 
one  of  these  matters  is  given  undue  precedence." 

"  The  author  of '  Forbes  of  Harvard  '  has  succeeded  in  doing 
what  very  few  writers  have  done.  He  has  told  a  bright,  clever 
story  by  means  of  a  series  of  letters.  Instead  of  descriliing  his 
characters  he  has  let  them  reveal  themselves  in  their  ei  istles." 

" '  Forbes  of  Harvard  '  is  a  series  of  letters  written  by  difl'er- 
ent  persons,  one  of  whom  i«  at  Harvard,  and  tells  in  an  inter- 
estingly vivid  way  a  nc;U  and  good  story,  sure  to  be  read  with 
pleasure." 

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THE  FORTUNES  OF  ilARQARET  WELD. 

A  novel  dealing  with  the  relation  of  the  sexes  in  a  bold 
but  delicate  manner. 

This  book  tells  the  story  of  a  good  woman  who  made  a 
grave  mistake.  It  touches  our  hearts  like  an  old  sorrow, 
and  we  go  with  Margaret  on  her  tortuous  earth  journey ; 
we  partake  of  her  aml)itions  and  her  joys ;  we  know  the 
bitterness  of  her  portion,  and  we,  too,  catch  glimpses  and 
feel  somewhat  at  the  last  of  her  serene  peare.  A  lofty 
purpose  runs  throughout  the  pages.  A  just  tribute  i^  in- 
directly paid  to  the  Quakers,  the  only  .sect  wlio  having 
power  never  persecuted ;  the  people  who  made  the  only 
treaty  that  was  never  sworn  to  and  yet  never  broken.  The 
world  will  be  belter  for  this  book. 

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MARGARET  SALISBURY. 

The  sMiing  of  the  story  is  vivid  and  picturesque,  bridg- 
ing the  period  of  our  Civil  war,  and  its  touches  upon  New 
England  and  Virginia  life  are  full  of  local  color,  provincial 
phraseology  and  dramatic  power.  The  tale  opens  with  a 
description  of  Three  Oaks,  a  fine  Virginia  estate,  the  fate 
of  whose  owners  is  curiously  interwoven  with  the  three 
gigantic  trees  from  which  the  place  receives  its  name. 
Mrs.  Lee  strikes  the  note  of  heredity  firmly,  and  the  most 
tragic  complication  of  her  plot  hinges  upon  the  unlawful 
use  of  hypnotic  power.  The  world  of  books  is  far  too 
poor  in  well-told  stories  of  our  war,  to  accord  anything 
less  than  enthusiastic  welcome  to  this  latest  comer,  so  full 
of  rich  detail  and  striking  scenes  both  North  and  South, 
and  so  winning  in  the  even,  impartial  temper  with  which 
the  sad  struggles  of  the  great  Rebellion  are  incidentally 
set  forth.  It  will  attract  that  great  army  of  readers  which 
turns  to  books  for  amusement  and  distraction. 

"  Margaret  Salisbury  "  is  the  brave  and  loyal  heroine  of  a 
stirring  drama  of  the  Civil  War.  Her  love  story  is  a  sad  one 
and  long  in  telling,  but  it  affords  the  author  opportunity  to  intro- 
duce pictures  of  Southern  life  in  anti-bellum  days  and  some 
startling  episodes  of  army  times.  The  sympathetic  interest  of 
the  reader  will  be  aroused  by  a  succession  of  unusual  incidents. 
—  Public  Opinion,  Washington,  D.  C. 

North  and  South,  their  people  and  principles,  are  the  text  of 
the  book.  The  slavery  question  is  treated  from  an  unprejudiced 
standpoint.  The  Negro,  Yankee  and  Southern  characters  are 
lifelike  under  skilful  moulding.  As  a  love  story  it  is  pure,  sim- 
ple, strong  and  pathetic. —  T^e  American  Ntwsman,  New  York 
City. 

"Margaret  Salisbury"  is  a  story  of  the  war,  and  is  charm-- 
iiigly  told.  Its  heroes  are  of  the  real  kind  who  believe  what 
they  profess  because  they  were  born  to  believe  so.  The  story  is 
enhvened  by  a  vein  of  rather  exquisite  humor  and  toned  up  by 
clean,  pure  and  healthy  sentiment,  altogether  furnishing  a  most 
entertaining  tale  of  heroic  times.  —  Kansas  City  Journal. 

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